


Barred Windows, Locked Doors

by ParadiseAvenger



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Alternate Universe - Horror, F/M, Ghosts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-29
Updated: 2017-10-09
Packaged: 2018-05-24 00:32:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 50,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6135316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ParadiseAvenger/pseuds/ParadiseAvenger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The basement was basically empty. Marinette didn’t see anything that could be causing the foul smell. Set midway between the water heater and central air unit was a single large door. It was wooden and unfinished like the rest of the basement with a pair of heavy sliding locks towards the top and bottom. Wine cellar, maybe, she thought and reached for the knob. Maybe what they smelled was really old booze.</p><p>The knob turned very slightly and then stopped. It wouldn’t budge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hours of Rain

I like a nice subtle horror movie so here’s what I want everyone to do… Pay attention to the little details! Was that door open before? Did Marinette leave that light on? Did she put the car keys there? If it’s different from what you think you remember, well… Enjoy a nice freak out!

X X X

The gunmetal-grey sky poured torrential rain. The steady pitter-patter on the roof of the car and the balanced whup-whup of the windshield wipers should have been comforting, but Marinette Dupain-Cheng’s eyes burned from staring at the road for so long. Mental exhaustion and stiff muscles plucked at what was left of her nerves. 

The radio station she had been listening to for little more than an hour began to cut in and out with static. She reached down to punch the dial. The radio scanned automatically for a new station, found a country channel first, and Marinette left it there. She put her hand back on the wheel, catching a glimpse of her chipped petal-pink nail polish. 

Damn, how long ago had she painted her fingernails? Six weeks? Right before her father had—? A prickling of tears swelled in her throat and burned her eyes. She swiped desperately at her cheeks, willing the tears away. If she started crying now, she knew she wouldn’t be able to stop. She turned up the music, but it was a sad song about tears and heaven and watchful eyes. She punched the dial again, harder than necessary, and let out a tiny tremulous breath when it settled into some hard rock that drowned out her thoughts.

The steady downpour drowned out everything else.

Marinette kept her eyes focused on the road, making out the wavy yellow line through the blur of raindrops and the slash of the wipers. The road was bordered on all sides by dense greenery, lush and thick from the rain that had lasted nearly a full two days. 

She saw a sign declaring the amount of miles from here to New York City. It was a large number, but not impossible to close. Marinette choked back a little derisive snort. She had wanted to see America for so long and this was how she came to have her dream granted. She would have given it up if it only meant that her father—

She fought the tears again, turning her mind over to the music. She recognized the lead singer’s voice, but not the particular song. She listened, attention divided evenly between it and the treacherously wet road. She guided the car around a tight turn.

Something reared up in front of her, illuminated by the headlights horrifically in the grey rain. The scream of metal against metal filled Marinette’s mind like a bomb, the memories coming over her in a flood that crippled her. She lost all the breath in her lungs.

Marinette slammed on the breaks, snapping her mother against her seatbelt in the passenger seat. Sabine woke with a start, a tiny cry of surprise escaping her lips. A deer stared back at Marinette, sodden from the rain and clearly more frightened of the car than Marinette was of it. It bounded away and vanished into the dark forest. 

Marinette sucked in a shuddering breath and uncurled her fingers from the steering wheel one knuckle at a time. Her chest ached, her eyes burned with tears, and her throat closed around the ragged cry that welled in her heart.

Sabine put her hand on Marinette’s arm, her palm warm and soft. “Ma chérie,” she said gently in French. She continued, “Don’t push yourself. I can drive for a while.”

Marinette shook her head and eased her foot off the brake. “I’m fine,” she answered in French. 

“Ma chérie,” Sabine murmured. There was a chide in her voice, but it was gentle and sad.

“I’m fine, Mama,” Marinette answered, “really.”

“If you’re certain,” Sabine said softly. She sank back into the passenger seat with a quiet sigh. Gingerly, she put her fingers to the space between her breasts and against her neck where the seatbelt had snapped into her. 

Marinette tried not to notice. She tried not to feel the memories of her own seatbelt cutting into her body, tried not to hear the screech of the brakes or recall the stench of burning rubber, tried not to remember the glimpse of her father’s face in the moment before the car crumpled all around them. Breathing shakily, Marinette eased her foot onto the gas. The rain continued to patter on the windshield and roof.

“Are we almost there?” Marinette asked to distract herself.

Sabine took out a sheaf of pages, including many printed directions and a map. Since the directions were in English, she opened the map and found the marked place with her finger. “How long since we got off the interstate?”

“About an hour,” Marinette answered. “You fell asleep right when I took the exit. We’ve been following East River Road since then.”

Sabine tracked the path with her finger, repeating the road’s name to herself. “It appears that we’re very close,” she said. “The house is on Rural Street.”

“Rural,” Marinette repeated and looked at the walls of impenetrable forest on either side of the road. She thought it was apt. 

Sabine gazed out the window in silence and Marinette kept her eyes on the road. Her hands shook, but it was easy to hide if she kept her grip on the wheel tight. She spotted a sign quarter of a mile before Rural Road and put on her blinker. Easing into the wet turn, she followed the road and kept her eyes peeled for houses. There weren’t many and most were pushed far enough back from the road that she couldn’t see them through the trees. Marinette bit back the thought that she didn’t feel much like interacting with neighbors anyway. 

“Ah, there,” Sabine said and pointed.

Marinette followed the line of her mother’s hand and turned up the gravel driveway, bouncing through ruts and puddles. She pulled to a stop in front of the house and stared up at it in shock. The manor towered over them, glorious even through the rain and with all the weeds overgrowing in its front garden.

“Mama,” Marinette protested. “There’s no way we can afford this. Is this the right address?”

Sabine passed her the papers and let Marinette compare, just in case she had misread the English lettering. 

It matched, much to Marinette’s surprise. She scanned the closing paperwork in confusion. Either she sorely misunderstood the transition from French to American currency or this mansion was outrageously cheap. This house was to be their new home. This enormous house that was much too big for two small French-Chinese women but was just the house Marinette’s father had always wanted.

“There must be something wrong with it,” she said without thinking. Her voice came out colder and sharper than she had expected.

“Ma chérie,” Sabine said gently. “The house is beautiful. It’s good luck for us.”

“It’s not,” Marinette continued. Her emotions felt like a heavy boulder that had been tipped down a hill. The house loomed over her, staring down with dark empty windows. Her words snowballed, dragging across the fresh start like a razor. “There’s probably toxic mold or a portal to hell in the basement—”

“Ma chérie!” Sabine put her hand on Marinette’s arm and squeezed carefully. 

Marinette sucked in a tremulous breath and let it out slowly, trying to get a grip on herself.

“Let’s go inside, okay?” Sabine murmured. 

Marinette nodded. She shut off the car and the silence that followed was crushing. She breathed through the surge of panic as she clicked off her seatbelt, fumbled in the backseat for her umbrella, and climbed out. The fresh air was crisp with rain and smelled of nature. It was nothing like the crowded block in Paris where Marinette had lived previously. 

Sabine opened her own umbrella, jingled the keys, and marched up the steps. She unlocked the front door and swung it open. As Sabine disappeared inside, Marinette felt her heart rate increase. She was about to call out to her mother when the light flipped on and Sabine reappeared in the threshold. She smiled and beckoned.

Marinette opened the back door of the car, hefted out her cat’s carrier, and hastened inside with her mother. Everything else in the car could wait, but Marinette hated keeping Tikki cooped up. The house was just as remarkable inside as it was outside, but marked with dust and neglect. For each stunning piece of finery, there was a layer of grime and grit.

“Wow,” Marinette murmured as she gazed up at the cobweb-dusted chandelier.

“Stunning,” Sabine agreed. “Why don’t you pick out your room? The movers will be here tomorrow. Hopefully the rain will stop by then.”

“Hopefully,” Marinette echoed. 

The foyer was utterly empty, allowing all her attention to flow over the grand central staircase. The balusters and finials at the top and bottom of the hardwood railing were elaborately carved and stunning, but threaded with dust and cobwebs. There was a wraparound hallway visible from the foyer, giving her a clear view of the closed doors above. Climbing the stairs slowly, she gathered dust against her palm as she swept it along the railing. She found the light switch at the top of the stairs and flipped it on. Wide beautiful French doors sat at the front and rear of the space, opening onto twin balconies and letting in the gloomy light. The side at the top of the stairs had enough space for a small chair and table. 

Marinette wandered down one side of the square open hallway. She opened each door onto an empty room and turned on the lights. She found a large bathroom with a garden tub and stall shower along with a deep pedestal sink and a toilet folded into a modest corner. There was no mirror, but the bathroom was still remarkable. The rooms were not as stunning as she expected, but that was probably because they were empty. One room had a bay window with a bench and balcony access that spoke to her immediately, but she continued down the hallway.

She curled her fingers around the knob of the final door and Tikki meowed mournfully in her carrier. 

Marinette cooed, “Don’t worry, Tikki. I’ll let you out soon.”

The doorknob turned easily and Marinette made to swing open the door. However, it opened only a few inches before crashing into something on the other side. Marinette put her hip to it and heaved, but the door didn’t budge. Curious, she set down Tikki’s carrier and squeezed through the tiny space. She flipped on the lights and stared in shock at the sight that awaited her. 

By its size, bay window, and ensuite bathroom, this was clearly the master bedroom, but it was positively packed with antique furniture, unmarked boxes, and heaps of musty clothes. Everything was piled haphazardly atop each other. A table was upturned on a bed, a dresser leaned against the wall with two feet in the air and clothing spilling from its half-open drawers, paintings were crammed in the space behind it, and a single vase had been set on a stack of boxes. 

Marinette would have thought someone was squatting here if not for the dust that coated everything. No one had been in this room in a great while.

“What on earth?” she muttered and picked up the vase. It was a perfectly nice vase and she couldn’t see why anyone would leave it behind when they moved. In fact, she couldn’t see a reason to leave behind any of this. The furniture had to be worth selling at the very least. Marinette put down the vase and squeezed back out of the room. 

Tikki meowed at her again and the cat’s voice echoed against the empty hall. 

“I know, I know,” Marinette said and hastened down the hallway. She paused at the top of the staircase and peered down into the foyer. “Mama?”

Sabine was nowhere to be seen. Their wet footprints glistened on the tiled floor and the umbrellas had dripped a small puddle. 

Marinette clambered down the stairs, kicking up plumes of dust. There were four doors in the foyer—one to the right and left while the final two were on either side of the staircase. 

Marinette chose the one at random and found a library with pitifully empty built-in shelves along one wall and a grand piano that was probably too heavy to move. The door beyond hung open, giving a clear view into a living room. The twin doors behind the stairs opened into what she presumed to be a dining room with a wall of glass doors that led into a sunroom and onto a covered patio. Beyond the glass, she could see an empty swimming pool and several dry fountains. Just how rich had the people who owned this house been? 

The third and final door led down a hallway. Every door in her path was already open, but she peeked into each room regardless. There was another bathroom, a laundry room, a room she imagined had once been for servants, and a large kitchen. The kitchen had plenty of counter space, an island with a raised bar, a small nook with another bay window where a table could comfortably fit, and a single closed door that Marinette assumed hid a pantry. Her father would have loved this kitchen. 

“Mama?” Marinette called again. 

She approached the pantry, half-curious and half-searching. She turned the knob, opened the door, and stared into the black abyss in surprise. The narrow staircase wound down into the deep darkness. She patted around and found a light switch, but nothing happened when she flipped it. The basement remained impenetrably dark and musty air wafted up. The longer Marinette stood there, looking down, the more rank the air began to smell. 

In her carrier, Tikki yowled.

A hand closed around Marinette’s elbow.

Shrieking, Marinette whirled around.

Sabine looked as surprised as Marinette felt. “Ma chérie?” 

Marinette breathed shakily. “You startled me,” she admitted.

Sabine peered into the basement alongside Marinette. She reached for the switch.

“It doesn’t work,” Marinette told her and closed the door. She inhaled, but couldn’t smell the foul stench any longer. It was a basement. Maybe it was full of mold or something. It probably needed to be cleaned, just like the rest of the house. “Where were you?”

Sabine gestured to the damp box on the counter. “I started unpacking the car,” she explained. “Did you decide on a room?”

“I think so,” Marinette said, “but there’s something weird. There’s a ton of furniture in the master bedroom, piled all over the place. It’s a real mess.”

Sabine tilted her head. “Let’s take a look,” she said. “Then you can help me unpack the rest of the car.”

Marinette nodded and led her mother upstairs. She squeezed into the room, shuffled some boxes out of the way, and heaved at the marble coffee table blocking the door. Sabine wriggled into the room, stood in the small clear space beside Marinette, and looked around in surprise. 

“You’re right,” Sabine said. “It is strange. It’s like someone put all the furniture in the house in this one room.”

Marinette handed her mother the vase. “Most of this stuff looks nice. Why would they leave it behind?”

Sabine examined the pattern on the vase. It was of a field full of flowers, bright and colorful. “I don’t know, ma chérie,” she said. “Who can say why people do what they do? Who can say why anything happens the way it does?”

What happened to Tom Dupain hung between them, his death a cold heavy weight. It was suffocating.

Marinette backpedaled from the room. “What do we do with all this stuff?”

Sabine put the vase down gently, stepped out of the room, and closed the door. “I don’t know,” she said. “What do you think the custom is in America?”

“I have no idea,” Marinette said.

“We’ll ask the movers tomorrow,” Sabine said.

Marinette didn’t have a better idea so she just nodded. 

“Which room did you like the best?” Sabine asked.

Marinette led her down the hallway and opened the door to the bedroom with the window seat. Sabine looked around approvingly. She opened the large closet and then the single door onto the balcony. Rain pattered on the stone, but the breeze was delightful. Marinette breathed deeply.

The sun was beginning to set and Marinette hadn’t realized just how much of the day she spent driving. 

“Let’s hurry and unpack the car while it’s still light out,” Sabine said. 

Marinette put Tikki’s carrier in her chosen room, shut the door, and followed her mother back downstairs. She opened her umbrella, tucked it over her shoulder and under her chin, and grabbed the first cardboard box from the back seat. She and Sabine made quick work unloading the car. They had packed only the things they couldn’t bear to be without and some things that they needed before the movers would arrive. It wasn’t much, but it was enough that there was a small lake inside the front door from the dripping umbrellas and sodden shoes. 

Sabine locked up the car and closed the front door with a sigh. “That’s a relief,” she said and began opening boxes. 

Marinette found the box containing Tikki’s litter box, toys, and bed. She wrapped her arms around it and carried it upstairs. The door to her bedroom stood open. Tikki glowered from behind the slates of her carrier and meowed loudly when she spotted Marinette. Marinette set down the box and returned downstairs for her two suitcases. 

Sabine followed and chose a room seemingly at random. 

“Aren’t you going to take the master bedroom?” Marinette called.

“Maybe,” Sabine answered, “But it’s not as if I can put anything in there now.”

Marinette dumped litter into Tikki’s box and set it up in the corner of her new room. She scattered toys, set Tikki’s bed in the window seat along with a bowl of food and water. Then, she opened the carrier and let her cat out. Tikki was a red Norwegian Forest cat so she was quite large for a housecat but inquisitive and sturdy. Marinette had had her since she was a kitten. In fact, her father had given Tikki to her for her seventh birthday. 

“What do you think, Tikki?” Marinette asked as the cat prowled the room, sniffing at the baseboards and windows. Finally, she jumped into the window seat, hunkered down to eat, and ignored everything else. She hated being locked up. Marinette imagined that the long drive had made her cranky.

Marinette made sure to close her bedroom door behind her when she headed back downstairs. Sabine had carried all but one box into the kitchen. A quick peak in the final box revealed their air-mattresses, quilts, and pillows. Marinette left it in the foyer and wandered to the kitchen. 

Sabine unpacked the boxes slowly on the island. They contained condiments and foods, a few cooking implements, and—most importantly—Tom’s cookbook. Marinette swallowed the threat of tears and forced herself to look away from it. The largest box was still on the floor, filled to overflowing with cleaning supplies.

“When will the movers be here tomorrow?” Sabine asked. 

“Early, I hope,” Marinette told her mother. “I asked them to be here at eight.”

Sabine nodded thoughtfully.

“I’m going to go upstairs,” Marinette said, “and unpack a little.”

“Good, good,” Sabine remarked. 

Marinette could see that her mother was slowly losing herself to the memories of her husband. The box containing their photo albums and precious things hadn’t been touched yet, but Marinette knew Sabine would unpack it tonight. She wasn’t ready to see that so she excused herself, picked up the box of sleeping supplies, and climbed the stairs. She gathered her things from the box and carried them down the hall to her room, leaving the rest of the box for her mother. 

Arms full, Marinette fumbled to open the door. When it finally swung open, Marinette found Tikki still in the window. However, she was fluffed up to twice her size. She hissed loudly and then growled low in her chest. All the hair along her back stood up and her tail puffed manically. 

“Tikki?” Marinette asked. “What’s the matter?”

Tikki snarled, spitting loudly. She jumped down from the window and ran towards the middle of the room like a predator with her eyes on prey. A chill ran down Marinette’s spine, but it disappeared as quickly as it came, almost as though it had passed through her. Tikki stopped and began licking her paw as though nothing had happened.

“Psycho cat,” Marinette muttered and kicked the door closed. 

She spread out the air-mattress, plugged the pump into the wall, and watched it inflate slowly. She didn’t have any sheets so she just tossed the blanket and pillows onto it. As soon as she finished, Tikki hopped onto the bed and made herself comfortable. Marinette dropped down beside the cat and petted her long soft fur for a moment. 

Then, she got back to her feet and went downstairs for the vacuum. Plugging it into the wall, she began vacuuming all the cobwebs from the corners and the dust from the hardwood. Once she finished her bedroom, she vacuumed the long hallway, the bathroom, her mother’s room, and the remaining empty bedroom. Using the hose from the vacuum, she sucked up all the cobwebs between the balusters. It was a little cathartic to clean some of the grime from the beautiful house. Marinette felt almost like she was cleaning out herself. 

She bounced the vacuum down the stairs and set to work on the foyer. However, the wet footprints she and her mother had left and mingled with the dust and turned into a sort of damp smearing muck. Nothing short of a mop would get it up. Marinette rolled into the library and vacuumed each shelf. The piano might have been glossy beneath all its dust, but Marinette couldn’t tell. She vacuumed the living room, admiring the window seat there as well.

It really was a magnificent house. 

Now, it was partially clean. It was at least livable and she was sure the movers would track dirt everywhere tomorrow. Marinette tucked the vacuum into a corner out of the way until they could decide on a place for it, trudged back up the stairs, and entered her room. Tikki was still lying on the bed, stretched out as though she didn’t have a care in the world. Her whiskers twitched with dreams. Marinette settled down beside her cat. Then, only then, did she allow herself to break down completely. She buried her face in her knees and cried for all she was worth. 

Her father was dead. He was gone forever.

And she missed him. She missed him so much.

X X X

Look for updates to this story on Mondays.

Questions, comments, concerns?


	2. Move In, Move Out

Alright everyone... The fate of my computer was very bleak. It failed utterly and I had to send it to DriveSavers. $2000 and a full month later, they were able to pull 85% of my data off my massively failed hard drive. Take it from me, go and back up all your data people. However, we are now back in business! Send me all the encouragement, though, because my bank account is now very empty.

X X X

Marinette woke to a knocking on her bedroom door. She was still wearing her clothing from the day before, right down her to shoes. She had cried herself into an exhausted sleep. Her face felt dry, her eyes were sore, and her mouth tasted like sand. The knocking continued. Marinette heaved herself out of bed and shuffled to the door. She pulled it open, surprised to find Sabine a few feet away.

“Ma chérie, good morning,” Sabine greeted. “I was just coming to wake you. The movers are here and I need you to translate.”

Marinette nodded and scrubbed her face with her hands. “Just give me a few minutes to wake up,” she said.

“Of course, but do hurry. We don’t want to keep the movers waiting.”

“Is it still raining?”

“Not right now, but it’s still very cloudy. It could start up again at any minute.”

“I’ll be right down,” Marinette assured her mother. She rummaged through her suitcase for her small bag of toiletries and ducked into the bathroom. She splashed some water on her face, brushed her teeth, and smoothed her wild hair. As prepared as she was going to be on short notice, she hurried downstairs to greet the movers. 

Sabine gestured lamely to them. She spoke only a few sparing words in English and could not read more than the address of the new house after Marinette wrote it out in bold letters on the map. In turn, it seemed that the movers did not speak a lick of French. They all looked at Marinette with relief when she came down the stairs.

“Good morning,” she greeted and delved into instructions. 

There was a lot of nodding and gesturing between the movers and Sabine, interspersed with Marinette’s translations. They carried in mattresses, sofas, and dressers. Settled the large television armoire in the living room where it belonged so Marinette and Sabine wouldn’t have to move the heavy piece. Boxes came last. Marinette had labeled them all when they had been packed so it was an easy matter to teach the movers the words for kitchen, bedroom, living room, books, and garage in French. 

It took the better part of three hours to unpack the truck. Though the apartment above the bakery in France had been packed to the brim with the Dupain-Cheng’s belongings, they barely filled the new mansion. This place was even larger than Marinette had realized, especially now that their furniture was pretending to fill the many rooms.

Sabine pushed some sweat-dampened hair back from her forehead. Even though the rainy weather had made the air cool, it was still ridiculously humid. “Ask them about the furniture in the master bedroom,” she said to Marinette. 

“Ah, before you go,” Marinette began, “could you help us with something?”

The lead mover, a strong man who had brought his son with him, nodded with a cheerful smile. He blotted his flushed face with a handkerchief. His son, Ivan, had been sullen but helpful through the whole process. He looked as though he had better things to do with his weekend, but preferred to be paid. Marinette led the pair upstairs and opened the master bedroom as best she could. 

“This room is full of furniture,” she told them. “I think the previous owner left it all here. We need to—what’s wrong?”

As soon as he looked inside the room, Ivan’s father lost his flush. Marinette tried to tell herself that it was because of the fan she had plugged in to get some air circulation, but he looked as though he had seen a ghost. Ivan’s expressionless face broke into something mingling curiosity and confusion.

“Sorry,” Ivan’s father answered. He blotted his face again. 

“Is something wrong?” Marinette asked. She peered at the piled furniture and boxes. “Do you see mold?”

“No, no,” Ivan’s father said with a wave of his hand. “There’s no mold. It’s just—”

“We move furniture in,” Ivan interrupted. “We don’t move furniture out.”

Marinette pressed her lips together, puzzled. “Do you know someone who would move it out?”

Ivan shook his head and started to say something.

His father cut him off. “It came with the house, didn’t it?”

Marinette nodded and gestured to the mess. “It was just piled up like this when we got here.”

He smiled. “A lot of it is quite handsome. Maybe you’d like to keep it in the house or at least go through it to see if there’s anything you like?”

Marinette glanced at the half-open door. “I don’t know. Does all this stuff belong to us?”

“It does now,” he explained. “When you buy a house, you get everything inside it.”

Marinette closed the door on the sight. “Alright,” she relented. “Thanks for all your help.”

“How do you say ‘You’re Welcome’ in French?”

Marinette smiled as she told him.

Ivan’s father repeated the words with a smile, wiped his forehead again, and they headed downstairs. 

Sabine looked at her inquisitively and Marinette shook her head. Together, they bid farewell to the movers and watched the large truck diminish down the driveway. The dense forest seemed to swallow it up and the rainy weather did little to improve the sight. Marinette closed the door with a sigh.

“What about the furniture?” Sabine asked.

“They said they move furniture in, not out,” Marinette told her mother.

Sabine lifted a brow.

“I know, I know,” Marinette said with a roll of her neck. “It’s confusing, but maybe America is different. They told me that we own all that furniture and that maybe we’d like to go through it.”

Sabine nodded thoughtfully. “You never know, there might be something we like.”

Marinette thought of the dresser filled with clothes and the unmarked boxes. There might be some cool vintage clothing hidden away and she would love to repurpose them into something fashionable. It wasn’t a bad idea to go through the room, but she had no idea how long it would take. 

“Well,” she told her mother. “I’m going to start unpacking my room.”

“I’ll start on the kitchen,” Sabine said. “Let’s see what we can finish today.”

Marinette gave her mother a brief high-five and headed upstairs. Tikki crouched on Marinette’s bare mattress, eyes narrowed into slits as she peered through her fortress of unpacked boxes and Marinette’s metal dress form. Marinette chose a box without looking, cut through the tape, and opened it. She stared at the contents—clothes. Her dresser was settled against the wall, but she wasn’t in the mood to unpack clothes right now. 

It was unbelievably stuffy in her room and the humidity made her t-shirt stick to her back. The ceiling fan was doing little to help when there was no fresh air. Marinette ignored the box and crossed to open one of the bay windows. There weren’t any curtains yet so she flipped the latch and heaved.

It didn’t budge.

Confused, Marinette examined the sill for jams but found only a mess of dead insects. Ladybugs were so cute and she just hated to see them lying on their backs with their bright colors dulled by death. She gave the window a shot with her fist, planted her feet, and put her back into it. With a horrible sticking grind, the window crept up a few inches. Then, as though it had made it over an invisible hump and now sped downhill, it shot the rest of the way open under her force.

Marinette breathed deeply and looked out at the backyard for the first time. She could see the empty pool from here, along with three dry fountains and a garden filled with overgrown rose bushes. There was a gazebo and a small shed that she imagined had gardening supplies in it. 

Wait, were those bars?

Marinette thought at first that the windows were dirty or there was a vine hanging over it, but she realized now that the dark shapes ran all the way around the bay window at regular intervals. In fact, every window in her room was framed with them. The bars were simple and sturdy. What use could a house like this have for bars? 

She opened the balcony door and stepped out into the muggy air to examine the bars up close. They were bolted to the house securely, red rust streaking against the paint. She tugged experimentally on the bars, not expecting them to move and not surprised when they didn’t. Tikki ventured onto the balcony with her, sniffing around curiously. She put her paws against the open balcony door, pushing it back into the wall of the house with a crash.

“Tikki,” Marinette scolded. 

She bent to pick up her cat and noticed that jamb of the door leading onto the balcony had been gouged. The damage wasn’t severe, but it was noticeable. The paint was chipped, the wood was marked with rivets and dents, and there was a damaged space between the jamb and the door itself as though someone had wedged something against it. Maybe this house had had trouble with break-ins. 

Marinette backtracked inside, closing and locking the balcony door behind herself. She set Tikki on the bed again and headed to her mother’s room. There were no bars there, nor in the other bedroom, nor the bathroom. She couldn’t see the master suite well enough to make out if there were bars on its windows.

“Weird,” she muttered, but it was an old house. Who knew what other secrets it possessed? Maybe her bedroom had once held unimaginable treasure and they needed to keep it locked up tight. She doubted that, but it was possible. 

Marinette stepped back into her room and began taking clothes out of the open box. She hung some dresses up in her closet, put jeans into the bottom drawer of her dresser, and left the middle drawer open for t-shirts. She found her stereo, plugged it in, and scrounged through her suitcase for her iPod. She plugged it in and waited for the opening bars of her favorite playlist. It was easier to work with music playing. It kept all her thoughts away.

It took Marinette the better part of two hours to unpack her room, remake her bed, fold up the air-mattress, and put everything into its place. She broke down the boxes and stacked them neatly. Pleased with her work, she flopped down on her bed beside Tikki and stared at the ceiling for a moment. Why was this gorgeous house so cheap? Was that mold or just a shadow against the white paint? Why were there bars on the windows? Why was there a room full of perfectly usable furniture stacked up like garbage?

There was a knock on her door.

Marinette got to her feet and pulled it open.

“Hey, ma chérie,” Sabine greeted. “How’s the unpacking?”

“Great,” Marinette said and opened her door wider so her mother could see. “I’m all finished.”

“It looks wonderful,” Sabine said cheerily. “It’s nice that you left your balcony open for Tikki, but aren’t you worried she’ll get down somehow?”

Puzzled, Marinette turned around. She thought she had closed and locked the balcony door, but it stood open now. “I thought for sure I closed that,” Marinette muttered.

Sabine smiled softly. “You’ve always been a little scatterbrained, ma chérie, just like your father.”

The words hung between them.

Marinette quickly crossed her room, closed the door with more force than necessary, and made sure to lock it this time. She didn’t give herself or her mother any time to think about Tom. Brushing her hands together, she asked, “What’s left to unpack in the kitchen?”

“Everything,” Sabine said. “I got involved cleaning and haven’t unpacked anything.”

“I’ll help you,” Marinette told her mother. She cast one more glance at the balcony door and followed her mother, leaving the door to the rest of the house open for Tikki to explore. 

“Thank you, ma chérie,” Sabine said.

Together, they descended the stairs and stepped into the kitchen. Everything was polished to a shine with their tiny kitchen table pushed into the breakfast nook. Boxes were heaped all over and around it. Marinette set to work removing each dish from its bubble wrap, passed it to Sabine to put away, and picked up the next one. It didn’t take long for the two of them to put away all the dishes, glasses, and cookware. 

“We need to go to the grocery store,” Sabine remarked as she stared into the remaining barren cabinets. 

“Tomorrow,” Marinette said. “I need to register for school, too.”

“And we need light bulbs,” Sabine said. She tipped her chin towards the basement. “There’s a bad smell coming up from there. Whatever it is, we need to clean it out.”

“I bet it’s toxic mold,” Marinette said but a little smile stole across her lips.

Sabine swatted at her, laughing softly. 

“It might not be the bulb,” Marinette remarked. “It could be a busted fuse for all we know. We should probably look around before we do anything crazy.”

Tikki bounded into the kitchen, leaped onto the counter, and meowed loudly for attention.

Sabine stretched out a hand to pet the cat and her eyes misted with tears. No doubt she was thinking of Marinette’s seventh birthday when Tom had given her the pet she had been pleading for. Her voice cracked a little when she asked, “You’ve had Tikki for how many years now?”

“Ten,” Marinette said. 

Sabine sniffled and scratched Tikki behind the ear.

Marinette changed the subject, swallowing around the lump in her throat. “I’m going to have a look in the master bedroom.”

“Good idea,” Sabine said and wiped surreptitiously at her eyes. 

Marinette scooped up Tikki and carried her back upstairs. The moment she was out of earshot, she buried her face in Tikki’s soft fur and fought the tears. A few escaped and dripped down her cheeks. Tikki meowed mournfully and squirmed.

“I know, I know,” Marinette mumbled. “I’m getting you wet. I’m sorry.” 

She let Tikki jump down from her arms, slipped into the master bedroom, chose one box, and carried it back into her room. Dust wafted from all sides of it so she set it in the middle of her floor. Tikki came over to sniff, excited by the prospect of empty cardboard to play with. Marinette slid her finger beneath the tape.

Tikki’s back went ramrod straight and all the hair along her neck stood up. She growled loudly and spit.

“Tikki, what—?”

A chill shot down Marinette’s spine. It was as though all the heat and humidity had been sucked from the room, leaving her encased in ice. Tikki jumped onto the box and hissed, her back arching high. Marinette looked around, her skin crawling, but there was nothing—not a spider, no other insect, no monstrosity from the great beyond. Her room was as she left it, the door behind her cracked open so Tikki could survey the new house.

“Tikki,” she scolded and brushed the cat off the box. “You’re being ridiculous.”

Marinette peeled off the crackly tape and opened the box. It was full of women’s clothing. By Marinette’s estimate, it was styled for the 1920s with wide or elaborate collars, pleated skirts, and soft felt hats. The lines of the dresses were sleek, falling just above the knee with loose skirts trimmed with ruffles or furs. Marinette took out each article of clothing and admired it, feeling the embroidery and layers between her fingers.

With a soft thump, a box fell from the folds of a wrap-around cardigan sweater and landed on the floor. It was small and wooden, carved simply with roses, and lined with velvet on the inside. A broach lay within, shaped as a flower with five petals. It was made from rose-colored metal, intertwined from a single piece and looped so that each petal held a small circle within. At its very center was a single pale pink pearl. In its simplicity, it was elegant and beautiful. Marinette gazed at it, confounded as to why someone would leave something like this behind. It looked precious, if not valuable. 

Tikki butted her head into Marinette’s hand and meowed. Whatever had startled Tikki, the cat gave no sign of it now.

Marinette put the broach back into the carved container and set it on top of her dresser. Then, she folded all the clothes back into the box. It began to rain again, pattering in through the open window and soaking the sill. Marinette closed it quickly and stared out through the bars. 

With all the rain they had been having, water had gathered in the empty pool. It was dark and murky, filled with leaves and sticks. Marinette wasn’t looking forward to cleaning out the pool, if she ever did. She didn’t know the first thing about pools. With a sigh, she rested her forehead on the cool glass and closed her eyes. Tikki jumped onto the wet sill, put her paws as high as she could reach, and meowed at Marinette. She obliged the cat with a scratch.

Something crashed against the window.

Tikki jumped away, surprised, with a yowl. Marinette almost dented her head in her haste to leap backwards from the window. She didn’t see anything through the slanting rain, but she opened the balcony doors and darted outside. Maybe a bird had flown into the window, managing to get between the bars and scare the life out of Marinette. The downpour of rain immediately soaked her. Since she couldn’t possibly get any wetter, she took her time looking around for whatever had struck the window, but there was nothing.

Tikki lingered at the doorway, leaning her nose out into the rain. Marinette nudged the cat back inside, slammed the balcony door, and shivered. She quickly grabbed some dry pajamas and hustled to the bathroom. She threw her wet clothes into the sink, dug a towel out of the unpacked box labeled bathroom, and started the water.

The pipes groaned and clanked, rattling noisily in protest. After a few seconds, water poured from the spout in a fantastic blast. The water was tinged rust-brown. Marinette recoiled immediately, staring at the cascade of filthy water. She was about to wrap herself in a towel and go downstairs to tell her mother when the water slowly began to clear. Within a minute, steam and perfect clean water rushed from the showerhead. 

Marinette pulled the ties from her wet hair, grabbed her shower supplies, and stepped beneath the warm spray. It soaked the chill from her bones. Breathing a sigh of relief, she scrubbed her fingers through her hair. Her shampoo smelled like strawberries and vanilla, erasing the mustiness of the house. She scrubbed her body with a loofah, shaved her legs, and tipped her head back into the spray. Clean, she allowed herself to relax beneath the warm water.

It was quiet with only the sound of the water to drown out her thoughts. She thought of her father, of his kind smile, his strong arms, his scent. As the happy memories gave way to nightmarish flares of screaming tires and burning metal, Marinette shut off the water. She toweled off, dressed in her pajamas, and threw her towel over the wall of the stall shower. As she combed her dark hair, she mourned the bathroom’s lack of mirror.

She wrung out her wet clothes, hung them up to dry, and brushed her teeth. Letting her breath out slowly, Marinette forced back the swell of tears in her throat. She walked back to her bedroom and as she neared the top of the staircase, she glanced down at the visible foyer below. The front door stood open and Tikki sat just inside the threshold, looking out. 

“Tikki!” Marinette protested. She rushed down the stairs, bare feet missing the final step. She stumbled forward around the boxes littering the foyer and tripped into the jamb of the front door. She grabbed Tikki up in her arms and clutched her. “Mama? Are you outside?”

She peered out the front door through the slanting sheets of grey rain. She could see the car parked around the bend of the driveway, the bright spots of blooming red rosebushes against the house, and several deep dark puddles glistened on the overgrown lawn. 

Someone stood in the middle of front yard, just at the edge of the wide gravel courtyard. Marinette could just make out dark hair, pale skin, and sodden clothes—too tall and willowy to be Sabine. Marinette opened her mouth to shout at the young woman.

“Ma chérie,” Sabine asked abruptly. “What are you doing?”

Marinette spun to face her mother. “I thought you were outside. Why was the front door open?”

Sabine’s brow wrinkled. “Outside? What?”

“Were you going to let that woman inside? Is she a neighbor?” Marinette asked, turning back to look out the front door.

“Ma chérie? What woman?”

The lawn was empty of all but rain.

Tikki squirmed and Marinette let the cat jump down, gripping the front door in her hand. “I thought for sure that I saw someone,” she murmured.

Sabine put a gentle hand on her daughter’s shoulder. “Maybe it was a neighbor or someone out for a walk,” she suggested.

Marinette didn’t believe for a second that it was someone out for a walk in this weather with no umbrella, but she could discount it being a crazy person who was used to having this rural area all to themselves. Maybe she was lucky she hadn’t seen anyone naked just now. Tomorrow, she should probably go out and introduce herself to all her new neighbors so they could avoid startling each other.

“You’re probably right,” Marinette relented to Sabine.

Sabine smiled, scooped up Tikki, and gave the cat’s belly a scratch. “I see you showered,” she remarked. “How was the water pressure?”

“Fine, but the water came out all brown at first.”

“It’s an old house,” Sabine murmured. “It’s probably just been a while since the water ran through the pipes or maybe the water heater is going bad.”

Marinette nodded in understanding.

Sabine smoothed Marinette’s hair affectionately. “What would you like for dinner?”

“What do we have before we go grocery shopping?”

Sabine chuckled, “Basically just cereal, some cookies, and peanut butter crackers.”

“Cereal it is,” Marinette said with a smile.

X X X

As before, this is going to be a very subtle horror story. Pay attention to the little details.

Questions, comments, concerns?


	3. The Basement

Make sure you read chapter two. I erased the author's note about my failed computer and posted a chapter, but it didn't "update" my story so don't miss it!

X X X

Though the rain had abated, the sky was still filled with heavy clouds. Sabine and Marinette drove into town the next morning to polish off their errands. They bought groceries and put gas in the car. They registered Marinette for school and picked up the books she would need to get started. Unable to resist a fabric store, they stopped to look around, but Marinette didn’t have time for a project right now. She had too much to catch up on. At noon, they made the drive back to the mansion and had a nice lunch.

“That was delicious,” Marinette said as she heaped her dishes into the sink. She turned on the water and, like the night before in the shower, it ran brown for a few moments before clearing up. She rinsed her plate and cup, doing the same with Sabine’s when she brought it over.

“I know,” Sabine agreed. “I was getting so tired of cold cereal and cookies.”

“I don’t think I could ever get tired of cookies.”

Sabine nudged Marinette with her elbow, laughing, and loaded the dishes into the washer as Marinette rinsed them.

It was good to hear her mother laugh, Marinette thought as she shut off the water and dried her hands. 

“Are you going to get started on that schoolwork?” Sabine asked.

“Fat chance,” Marinette said with a snort. “I’ll worry about it when I start on Monday.”

“Do you have plans for the day?” Sabine asked as she closed up the dishwasher. “More unpacking or cleaning, maybe?”

Marinette shook her head and scraped her hair back into a ponytail. Little wisps and tendrils of short hair tickled her neck. “Actually, I thought I’d have a look around the basement. That brown water is really bothering me. And you said you smelled something bad?”

“It wasn’t a wildly terrible smell,” Sabine added. “It’s probably just because the basement is musty.”

Marinette had smelled something drifting up from the basement their first day in the house. She wasn’t able to put her finger on the smell, though. True, it was musty but it was also more than that. She supposed she would find out what was causing it soon enough. 

“Would you like my help?” Sabine offered.

Marinette waved her mother away. “Nah, you can focus on unpacking. I’ll probably just change a light bulb and then call a plumber.”

Sabine nodded and left the kitchen to head upstairs. 

Tikki jumped onto the kitchen table and sprawled out. Marinette scratched the cat’s belly before she grabbed the new oversized flashlight they had purchased. She fed brand new batteries into it, flipped it on, and grinned at how bright it was. Taking the pack of light bulbs, Marinette opened the basement door and shone the beam down the narrow stairway. She was very fortunate not to be frightened of spiders because they had spun webs in every available space. She didn’t bother to put her hand on the railing as she crept down.

Tikki meowed loudly.

Marinette paused and looked back up the stairs at her cat. The strange lighting must have been playing tricks on her vision. Tikki looked darker than she should have been, her eyes shining green in the beam of light. She meowed once more and her voice echoed into the basement, bouncing eerily off the walls.

“What?” Marinette asked the cat.

Tikki meowed again.

Marinette turned her back on the cat. The beam of her flashlight played over the walls. Though the rest of the mansion was stunning and elaborate, the basement was unfinished. The bare brick walls, wooden support beams, and pipes were all exposed. Rough concrete had been poured simply across the floor and it made scraping sounds beneath Marinette’s shoes. She tracked the beam across the ceiling, searching for a place for a light bulb. There were miles of pipes, twisting and bending into a net, but no place for a light.

Marinette turned the flashlight beam to the naked walls. The bricks were cracked in places and mortar spilled from the tight fits. The house had probably shifted and settled a lot over the years. Marinette spotted a simple wall sconce. She unscrewed the light bulb, replaced it, and continued her search. She found three more and replaced each dead bulb. Tromping back upstairs, she flipped the switch and the basement flooded with light. 

Tikki jumped down from the kitchen table and trotted over. She sniffed along the threshold of the door and then looked up at Marinette with a plaintive meow.

“What?” Marinette asked, bending to give her a scratch behind the ears. 

She put the flashlight back on the kitchen table and headed down into the basement to look around again now that she could actually see. She kept the pack of light bulbs with her, just in case she discovered another light fixture in need of replacement. Marinette walked carefully down the narrow and creaking stairs. With the lights restored, she saw that the wooden steps were in dire need of repair. Nails stuck up in places, some parts of the wood had splintered, and the railing wobbled when she touched it. 

She gratefully jumped off the final step and stood on the firm concrete. Looking around in the bright lights, the basement was definitely creepy, but it was nothing compared to knowing most of Paris was built atop a maze of human bones. Her father had taken her on a tour of the Catacombs when she was young and she was pleased to say that nothing could compare to the very walls being made of skulls. 

She approached the water heater, uncertain of what to look for when deciding what could make their water brown. It was taller than Marinette, but shiny and new. It definitely didn’t look like something from the nineteen-twenties. In fact, Marinette would wager it had been installed within the last two years. Weird, she had been under the impression that this house had been empty for a while. Maybe the people who lived here before were just terrible at keeping house.

In the opposite corner of the basement, countless shiny pipes running up from it and into the ceiling like a sort of metallic plant, was a central heating and air conditioning unit. It looks just as new as the water heater, though it was dormant. Marinette fiddled with it for a moment and it chugged to life. Well, at least she could say the air conditioning was turned on. Maybe it would do something about the ridiculous humidity saturating everything. 

The basement was basically empty save for cobwebs. Marinette didn’t see anything that could be causing the foul smell. Set midway between the water heater and central air unit was a single large door. It was wooden and unfinished like the rest of the basement with a pair of heavy sliding locks towards the top and bottom. Wine cellar, maybe, she thought and reached for the knob. Maybe what they smelled was really old booze.

The knob turned very slightly and then stopped. It wouldn’t budge.

Marinette put down the light bulbs, made sure the two sliding locks were pulled back all the way, and jiggled the handle again—nothing. She put her hip into the door and then her weight behind it. It still refused to budge. She stepped away from the door to look it over critically. The locking mechanisms for the door were all on the outside so there was no real reason the door shouldn’t open. She flipped the lightswitch beside the jamb, just in case that had something to do with it.

Nothing changed. Maybe the humidity had swelled it shut. Her father had always said that the simplest solution was often the correct one. Marinette sniffed around the door. Whatever they were smelling was definitely coming from the other side. As before, she couldn’t really identify it. It was a foul smell, but not terrible enough to be something rotten or moldy. It smelled like dark dank basement and just a little something else.

“Whatever,” Marinette muttered. She had bigger and more important things to do. She wanted to take the bars off her windows, she needed to look over her schoolwork, and she should really do some laundry. Her wet clothes from yesterday were all stiff and gross.

She grabbed the light bulbs, turned away from the door, and headed for the staircase. 

There was a sharp slam, the sound of glass breaking, and then Marinette was plunged into darkness. 

Had the light bulbs shattered? Stunned, for a moment she could only stand there in the pitch-blackness. She could hear the air conditioner humming and the water heater clicking. She shifted slightly, listening to the scrape of her soles on the rough concrete.

“Mama?” she called loudly. “I’m still down here!”

Sabine did not answer.

“Mama?”

There was a grinding sound and a door creaked open. Behind her, a rectangle of light fell across the basement floor. Marinette turned around slowly, clutching the packet of light bulbs to her chest. Though she wasn’t afraid of spiders or things that went bump in the night, her heart pounded against her ribcage. She had just tried so hard to open that door and now…

It hung open.

Marinette crept forward. Her mouth went dry and all the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. The room was roughly half the size of the rest of the basement with the same unfinished walls and bare beams. It definitely wasn’t a wine cellar.

However, Marinette couldn’t be sure what it was. It was completely and utterly empty save for a single porcelain toilet. Maybe someone had started to finish the basement. From what Marinette could see, the toilet looked clean and probably wasn’t the source of the strange smell, but she wasn’t about to step into the little room and look around. Not when the lights were abruptly going out on her and stuck doors were creaking themselves open. 

Even if this was just a house and there was probably a logical explanation, she was not stupid enough for that. Using the light from the room, Marinette made her way to the steps and hurried up them. The basement door was closed, but opened easily under her hand. Though the weather was still dreary and grey, it was blinding compared to the darkness of the basement. 

Tikki meowed at her inquisitively. 

Marinette scooped the cat up, her heart still hammering. The light switch had been flipped off. Turning it on again flooded the basement with light. From the top of the stairs, Marinette couldn’t see what had made the shattering sound, but she was done with the basement for the day. She turned off the lights, shut the door, and carried Tikki upstairs.

“Mama?” she called.

Sabine answered so quietly that Marinette barely heard her. “Here, ma chérie.”

Marinette eased open the door to her mother’s bedroom. 

Sabine knelt on the braided rug in the middle of the floor, her back to Marinette. Her shoulders trembled minutely.

“Mama?” Marinette whispered. After what happened in the basement, she felt ridiculously on edge. Giving herself a shake, Marinette stepped forward and put her hand on Sabine’s shoulder. “Mama, what’s wrong?”

Sabine looked up at Marinette, her eyes swollen and filled with tears. “Nothing,” she assured Marinette. “I just… I dropped our wedding picture.”

Marinette looked down at the rug. Sure enough, the collage of wedding photos had broken horrendously. Was it possible she had heard that sound all the way in the basement? Marinette put Tikki outside the room so she wouldn’t cut her paws and knelt beside her mother. Together, they picked up the shards of glass and Marinette pressed the broken frame back together as best she could. Sabine continued to weep silently, tears dripping off her chin.

“At least the pictures are alright,” Marinette said softly.

Sabine nodded and took the broken frame from her daughter. She didn’t clutch it to her chest, but she looked as though she wanted to.

“I turned the air conditioner on,” Marinette said before sorrow could grip her. “It should cool down in here soon.”

Sabine nodded without speaking.

Marinette straightened up, holding the shattered glass carefully in her hands. She left her mother alone with her thoughts and memories, dumped the glass into the bathroom garbage, and stepped into her bedroom. Tikki lounged in her cat tree beside the window, looking out at the damp day beyond. 

Marinette sat down on her bed, took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. She didn’t want to start crying at the merest mention of her father. He had been dead for almost two months now. Marinette licked her lips, letting her breath out shakily. Would the gaping wound in her heart ever close? Would she feel like this forever?

…

Marinette sat across from Sabine at the dinner table, picking at her broccoli. She loved broccoli but she just didn’t have an appetite for it now. It looked as though Sabine had recovered from breaking the wedding collage, but Marinette could still feel it deep inside. It was as though she had broken a bone, painstakingly trying to put a band-aid over the massive injury. It wasn’t enough. It still hurt.

“So,” Sabine began conversationally. “What did you find in the basement?”

“A whole lot of nothing,” Marinette said, grateful for something else to focus on. She threw herself into the conversation. “Actually, it was the weirdest thing.” In detail, she told Sabine about the lights going out, the door opening, and the single toilet in an otherwise empty and purposeless room.

“Very odd,” Sabine agreed. “Maybe there’s some bad wiring in the walls. We should call an electrician.”

“What about the room?” Marinette asked.

Sabine shrugged. “Like you said, maybe someone started to remodel the basement and stopped at a very odd place.”

Marinette managed to finish the broccoli without really tasting it and pushed her plate away. “Well, I wouldn’t go down there if I were you, Mama.” 

“Oh? Why?”

Marinette made a little creepy-crawly gesture with her hands and said, “Because it’s full of spiders and cobwebs.”

“Eww,” Sabine squealed. “You’d better sweep them all out.”

“Tomorrow,” Marinette promised. “Right after I take the bars off my windows.”

“Bars?” Sabine repeated. Her wide eyes settled on Marinette. “There are bars on your windows? Why?”

“I have no idea,” she said, “but they’re just bolted on. I think I can unscrew at least the ones off the windows on the balcony.”

“Are there bars on other windows in the house?”

“Not that I noticed,” Marinette said, “but I couldn’t get into the master bedroom well enough to see.”

“Very odd,” Sabine murmured and cast her eyes at the crystal chandelier hanging above the small kitchen table. “This house is just full of mysteries.”

“Did you find something weird too?” Marinette asked as she rose from the table.

“Everything is weird in this American house,” Sabine said without malice. She finished her dinner, picked up Marinette’s plate, and dumped both into the sink. The water ran brown for a moment once she turned it on and they watched it grow clear together. 

“Paris was built entirely atop the Catacombs,” Marinette put in. “I don’t think we get to compare.”

Sabine shrugged, rinsed the plates, put them into the dishwasher, and shut off the water. 

Marinette pressed a kiss to her mother’s cheek and said, “I’m going to take a shower and finish unpacking my room.”

“Alright, ma chérie,” Sabine said.

Marinette climbed the stairs. Now that the balusters and railing had been polished, it looked really nice. If only she had a ladder high enough to allow her to dust the chandeliers. There was that shed out in the garden near the empty pool. Maybe it had a ladder in it. Come to think of it, Marinette hadn’t looked in the garage yet either. It was funny to think that she had been here two days and still hadn’t seen everything the estate had to offer.

Tikki was perched in the window seat when Marinette entered, staring beyond the bars with rapt focus. 

Marinette looked out as well. A woman stood in the backyard, just beyond the garden near the tree line. Though the rain had stopped, night was falling and the woman was quite far away. Marinette couldn’t make out her face, but she had a feeling it was the same woman she had seen in the front yard the day before. The woman stood, unmoving, near the edge of the forest for several moments before walking into the darkness and disappearing.

Marinette scratched behind Tikki’s ears, earning a deep rumbling purr. “I forgot to introduce myself to the neighbors today,” she told Tikki. “I’ll do it tomorrow. Don’t let me forget.”

Tikki meowed. 

…

The sound of crying percolated through Marinette’s sleeping mind, rousing her from slumber. She sat up, blearily rubbing her eyes. Moonlight slanted in through the windows, but barely. Clouds still hung in the sky, dampening everything. The bars left long deep shadows on the floor. The air conditioning worked better than Marinette had expected and a chill hung around her shoulders. For a moment, she listened to the soft crying.

Tikki lay at the foot of Marinette’s bed, eyes forward and ears pricked. Marinette threw back the covers and put her bare feet on the cool floor. She didn’t bother with her robe, uncertain of where she had put it anyway. Tikki jumped down and followed her out of her bedroom. The crying was louder in the hallway, but only slightly. 

“Mama?” Marinette called as she crept past the bathroom. The weeping was quiet, gentle, stifled. It was very much like the sound that Marinette had heard since the day her father died. She eased open Sabine’s door, swallowing the tears that threatened to clog her own throat. “Mama?”

Silence answered her.

In the thin moonlight, Marinette could make out the shape of her mother’s body beneath the covers. Her back rose and fell evenly as she breathed. There was no sign or sound of crying. Sabine was deeply asleep. Then… where was the sound coming from? She closed the door of her mother’s bedroom.

Near the corner of the stairway, Tikki crouched in the shadows. She had climbed onto the stack of boxes that Marinette piled in the small sitting-type space at the top of the landing. Her eyes gleamed green, catching the moonlight that seeped in from the balcony door near the top of the stairs. Tikki silently jumped and padded down the stairs.

Marinette followed. She could still hear crying. It wrapped around her like a pair of cold hands, like the car crushing in around her, like the lid on her father’s casket and the earth that covered him. The floor was smooth and cool beneath Marinette’s bare feet. 

She followed Tikki through the foyer, down the hallway, and into the kitchen. Tikki’s dark shape paused at the top of the stairs leading into the basement. The hair on the back of Marinette’s neck rose. The door hung open and Tikki stared down. The darkness felt like a living thing, pulsating and reaching out.

Something—someone—was down there, crying so quietly.

Marinette approached, her heart in her throat. The crying continued softly, weaving into her bones and drawing her forward by some invisible string. Marinette stopped beside Tikki and stared into the darkness of the basement. She couldn’t see anything and the light switch winked at her, but the hairs rose on her bare arms. 

No. She would not go down there. 

Marinette stooped slightly, intending to pick up Tikki, slam the door, return to her bed, and never look back. The cat meowed and Marinette tore her eyes from the shadowy basement. A black cat stared up at her, green eyes gleaming. It wasn’t Tikki.

Marinette lost all the air in her lungs. She stumbled backwards, but the black cat didn’t move. It remained exactly where it was, tail flicking slowly. It turned its head and peered into the basement as before, silent and still. Soft sobbing drifted around them.

In the basement, a light came on. Marinette didn’t want to look, but she had too. At the bottom of the stairs, crumpled there like a ragdoll, was a boy. He had pale hair and white skin. Loose clothing hung off his sharp narrow shoulders. The shadows fell on him in deep pools, hiding much of him, but Marinette could see his body tremble as he cried.

She wanted to speak, but her voice stuck in her throat.

The black cat wailed.

Slowly, slowly, the boy turned his head. Marinette saw the bend of his jaw, the swell of his lips, the bridge of his nose. Dark liquid traced the edge of his mouth, dripping off. Though his lips didn’t move, the sound of crying continued. It didn’t raise in pitch or fervor, continuing as it had from the moment Marinette woke. 

The black cat yowled again.

A chill bolted down Marinette’s spine.

With a jolt, Marinette snapped up in her bed. Sunlight streamed through the curtains and Tikki looked down at her inquisitively from her perch. A dream, Marinette realized, a nightmare. Panting, she pushed her tangled hair out of her face. What was that? Who was that boy, that cat? Was that blood on his mouth? 

Sabine rapped on the door. “Ma chérie? Are you getting up?”

“Yes, Mama,” Marinette called. 

She looked around her room and her eyes settled on the family photograph on her desk. It was face-down, just as she had left it. She couldn’t bear to see her father’s smiling face, not right now. Grief, she told herself. It was just her grief affecting her overactive imagination. It was just a dream, just a nightmare, and it was to be expected. Her father had died suddenly and tragically. She was grieving—nothing more.

X X X

Questions, comments, concerns? 


	4. The New Neighbors

My power was out most of the day yesterday so that's why I didn't update. Ugh, it's a rough month for this story...

X X X

The morning dawned bright and buttery. The clouds had rolled away completely, banishing the murky dampness that had been hanging over everything since their arrival. It was the perfect sort of weather to pay a visit to their distant neighbors. Marinette was a little grateful to her nightmare for waking her so early. She would have plenty of time to prepare a little gift for her neighbors. Nothing said hello like freshly-baked cookies, as her father used to say. 

Marinette opened her bedroom door to her mother’s cheerful face.

“Did you sleep alright?” Sabine asked. “I thought I heard crying.”

Tikki darted between Marinette’s ankles, knocking her off balance. “Jeez, Tikki,” she muttered.

Sabine chuckled and steadied her daughter with one hand. “It looks like Tikki is ready for the day,” she said.

Marinette straightened herself and then smiled. “She’s not the only one,” she told Sabine. “I’m going to make some macarons and go introduce myself to the neighbors. Would you like to come?”

“Oh, no, you go without me, ma chérie.” Sabine’s cheeks flushed pink. 

Marinette put her hand on Sabine’s shoulder. “Mama,” she assured. “You don’t have to worry. I’ll translate for you.”

“You shouldn’t have to,” Sabine said softly. “I’m going to learn to speak English.”

“That’s great.” Marinette beamed. “Let me know if you need my help.”

Sabine nodded and headed downstairs after Tikki.

Marinette stepped into the bathroom, brushed her teeth, washed her face, and then headed into the kitchen. She took a deep breath to steady her nerves before reaching for her father’s cookbook. The familiar scent and weight of it brought a prickling to the back of her throat and behind her eyes. She fought the tears, breathing slowly. The scent of the pages brought her back home to Paris, to her father’s kitchen, to his hands and his embrace and his smile.

“Ma chérie,” Sabine said gently.

She stepped up behind Marinette and hugged her gingerly, swathing Marinette in the scent of her perfume. Marinette allowed her mother to steady her, a few tears sliding down her cheeks. She let them drip from her chin and let the memories wash over her. Once they passed, Marinette felt a little better, as if some of the pressure had been released. She breathed out shakily. Sabine stepped away, rubbing her daughter’s back and looking at her with concern.

“I’m okay,” Marinette murmured. 

She sniffled, dried her face, and opened the cookbook to the recipe for macarons. Her father’s familiar handwriting swelled in her chest, threatening another wave of tears. She swallowed thickly and began taking down ingredients. The act of cooking made her feel so close to her father that her hands trembled. It took longer than it should have to prepare the macaron batter and put them in the oven. Marinette hustled upstairs to change out of her pajamas. She came down in time to remove the cookies from the oven and left them out to dry.

“Ladder,” she muttered. 

Marinette marched out of the kitchen, down the hall, through the foyer, and into the dining room. One door opened onto the enclosed sunroom while the other opened onto a patio and the wide backyard. Though she hadn’t been in the sunroom yet, Marinette ignored it in favor of going outside. The sun felt amazing on her skin, especially after so long in the rainy humidity. 

The grass was tall and thick, bordering on overgrown, but Marinette pushed through. The round in-ground pool was settled in the middle of the backyard. It was framed by a square stone patio and fenced in with elaborate wrought-iron. The gazebo stood at its northeast corner and the three fountains were positioned roughly at the other corners. It was lovely. Marinette could imagine the parties held here at the height of the Roaring Twenties. 

Marinette picked her way through the yard. The first fountain was visible from the kitchen, or it would have been if not for the massive rosebush that grew in front of the window. Marinette tugged some thick vines from the fountain to get a better look. It was a beautiful angel woman with a bowl in her hands. When the fountain was working, water poured from it and filled the pool at her feet. It stood on a pedestal about knee-high, but the fountain towered over Marinette. It was almost life-sized.

The second fountain at the pool’s southwest corner was shaped like a birdbath. It was sunken into the earth, giving a knee-deep pool that would have been perfect for a few fish. It was simple and classy. She paused at the gate to the pool, but didn’t go inside. The empty pool sent a shiver down her spine. Marinette had never been the best swimmer, but she’d always wanted to learn. It was one of the many things her father would never get to teach her.

The final fountain was position at the northwest corner, between the pool and the garden shed. Three-tiered bowls, each designed to pour water into the other, stood waist-high. Though pretty, the two fountains were a let-down when compared to the large angel. Marinette examined the fountain and found its small pump hidden beneath a decorative stone along with a power outlet. Marinette plugged the pump in and it hummed to life. All she had to do was fill the fountains with water and they would be running again, assuming the others were in the same condition as this one. She unplugged the pump and stepped away.

Marinette unlocked the sliding bolt on the garden shed and pulled it open. A curtain of cobwebs impeded her and she brushed them away. There was a simple light in the ceiling and it came to life when she flicked the switch. The walls of the shed were hung with all manner of rusty tools—hedge shears, axes, shovels, rakes, pick axes, and more. A length of wrought-iron fence that matched what surround the pool and long bars that looked similar to the ones on Marinette’s bedroom windows were leaned against the wall. Animal traps, a small generator, a push lawn mower, and a riding mower were covered with sheets. 

“Creepy,” Marinette muttered as she examined an oversized pair of scissors. It looked like something from a horror film. 

She rummaged around, searching for a ladder. Once she shuffled the length of fence aside, she found a tall aluminum ladder that perfectly suited her needs lying against the bottom of the wall. She dug it out, lugged it from the shed, and kicked the door shut behind herself. Carefully maneuvering the ladder through the backdoor and dining room, she set it up in the foyer beneath the beautiful crystal chandelier. 

“Mama!” She called as she wobbled it experimentally. “I found a ladder.”

Sabine emerged from her bedroom and looked down over the railing into the foyer at Marinette. The design of the house was really cool, Marinette thought, allowing for the entire upper hallway to be seen from the foyer. “Very nice, ma chérie,” Sabine said. “Do be very careful.”

“I’ll dust when I get back,” Marinette said. “The macarons should by dry by now.” 

Tikki scratched at the basement door, her tail swishing.

Marinette ducked into the kitchen, mixed the creamy filling together, and filled the macarons. She loaded them into plastic bags, tucked them into a canvas shoulder bag, and headed out into the buttery morning. It was a little after eleven and Marinette figured most of her neighbors would be awake by now.

“Mama! I’m leaving!” Marinette shouted. “I’ll be back soon.”

Neighbors that had seemed so close when she was driving proved to be farther away than Marinette had expected. It took several minutes to reach her first neighbor. The colonial house was large and well-maintained. It had clean white siding, black shutters, and a wraparound porch. Marinette climbed the porch steps, rang the doorbell, and stepped back. The welcome mat smiled up at her.

A moment later, the door pulled open to reveal a young girl. She looked around Marinette’s age, but it was hard to tell because she was so short. Her blonde hair was pushed back from her face and dyed a myriad of bright colors. She had on a bathrobe and looked under the weather. 

“Good morning,” she said cheerfully though her voice was rough from coughing. “Can I help you?”

“Hi, I’m Marinette. My mother and I just moved in next door. I wanted to introduce myself and I brought some cookies.”

“I’m Mylène,” the girl answered. “I’d shake your hand, but I don’t want to get you sick.”

Marinette handed her a bag of macarons with a smile. 

“So you moved in next door?” Mylène asked. “From where?”

“Paris,” Marinette said.

Mylène’s eyes widened with excitement. “Seriously? You’re from France?”

Marinette nodded. 

“Amazing! You have to tell me all about it,” Mylène said eagerly.

“I’d be happy to,” Marinette said, “once you’re feeling better.”

Mylène appeared to abruptly realize that she was still sick. A fit of coughing nearly knocked her small body over. She smiled blearily at Marinette. “Thank you for the cookies. I’ll be sure to return the favor. Which house did you move into?”

Marinette pointed back the way she came. “Right next door,” she said. “We have a lot of work ahead of us before it— What’s wrong? Maybe you should sit down. You look very pale.”

Mylène stared at Marinette with wide startled eyes. “You moved into the Agreste Mansion?”

“I guess so,” Marinette said. She squinted at Mylène. “Are you sure you’re alright?” 

“I’m fine,” Mylène assured her. “Thank you for the cookies.” Another fit of coughing wracked her body.

“I hope you feel better,” Marinette excused herself.

Marinette crossed the street, walked up the paved driveway, and knocked on the next neighbor’s door. An elderly woman answered on the second knock. She looked as though she had just emerged from a time capsule. She wore a dress nearly identical from the ones Marinette had taken from the box in the master bedroom, a fur stole, and a felt hat over her long silvery hair. 

She smiled at Marinette, folding her gloved hands together in front of her. “May I help you, young lady?”

“My name is Marinette. I just moved in across the street. I wanted to introduce myself.”

A wistful look crossed the woman’s lined face. “Ah, you must me the new maid for the Agrestes.”

Marinette’s brow furrowed. “Excuse me?”

“Do say hello to Adrien for me, but don’t get any ideas. He’s my betrothed.” With that, the old woman closed the door in Marinette’s face.

Confused, Marinette was left standing there with her cookies. She thought about knocking again, but the woman had seemed senile at best and demented at worst. Maybe it would be better to introduce herself to someone else in the house at another time. She was about to walk away when the door opened and a woman Sabine’s age rushed out.

“I’m so sorry about that,” she said quickly. “I keep telling Mother not to answer the door, but she does it anyway. I’m Diana Bourgeois.”

“Marinette Dupain-Cheng.”

“How can I help you?” Diana asked with a smile.

“I just moved in next door. I came over to introduce myself and I brought some cookies.”

“Ooh, thank you. My gosh, are these macarons?”

Marinette nodded.

“They look perfect,” Diana said. “I haven’t had macarons like this since I went to school in France.”

Marinette smiled. “Well, that could be because my mother and I just moved here from Paris.”

“No way!” Diana said brightly. “That’s wonderful. Are you settling in alright?”

“It’s been hard for my mother since she doesn’t speak English.”

Diana nodded in understanding. “I can imagine. It’s been such a long time since I studied in France so I’m very rusty, but don’t hesitate to let me know if I can do anything to help her.”

“Thank you,” Marinette said. The curtains beside the door swept aside slightly and the old woman peered out at them. She glowered at Marinette, eyes like sharp points. Something must have shown on Marinette’s face because Diana turned around.

“Mother!” she snapped.

The old woman dropped the curtain and disappeared.

“Please don’t mind her,” Diana said. “She’s in the early stages of dementia. She thinks she’s a teenager back in the twenties again.”

“I understand,” Marinette said. 

“Did she say something to you? You look troubled.”

“She thought I was the new maid for the Agrestes and told me not to get any ideas about someone named Adrien,” Marinette explained. 

Diana sighed and nodded slowly. “She usually thinks that when she meets new people. Don’t worry about it,” she said. 

There was a crash inside and someone yelled shrilly, “Mom!”

“I have to get back to that,” Diana said hastily. “But if you need anything, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

Marinette nodded.

Diana pulled open the front door, ducked inside, and then shouted, “Sabrina! What have I told you about that? You know better!”

Marinette backtracked down the driveway and walked next door. She could see her own house peeking through the dense tree line. It was amazing how isolated each house seemed to be. There was a ‘For Sale’ sign in the front yard of the next house so Marinette skipped it. The warm sunlight that had seemed like such a blessing when she woke up beat down on her now. Sweat plastered her t-shirt to her back. She headed home instead of pressing on. Maybe she would take the car to meet the rest of her neighbors.

Marinette opened a bag of remaining macarons and bit into one. She opened the front door and bumped into the ladder. Why on earth had her mother pushed the ladder all the way over to the front door, rather than leaving it underneath the chandelier? Marinette pushed it back enough to allow herself inside. She put the remaining cookies in the kitchen, dug a duster out of the box, and went back into the foyer. She repositioned the ladder and climbed up to dust the chandelier. 

Tikki rushed through the foyer, playing with an invisible speck of dust. She meowed and pounced, rolling onto her back in the most adorable way. 

Marinette thought of the black cat in her dream last night. Was that her subconscious’s way of telling her that Tikki needed a friend? Dismissing the idea, Marinette finished with the chandelier and changed the single burned-out bulb. She carted the ladder back outside and leaned it against the house in case she needed it again. She went to the garden shed, dug around until she found an adjustable wrench, and returned to the house.

She climbed the stairs to her bedroom and stepped out onto the balcony. She began removing the bars, unbolting them one at a time. It took the better part of an hour. Marinette had underestimated just how rusted the bolts were and how heavy the long bars were. By the time she finished with the two windows on the balcony, she was soaked with sweat. Tikki watched her from the windowsill, curious as to why Marinette would go outside when the air conditioning was perfectly nice.

Marinette dropped the bars off the balcony, sending up a little prayer that they wouldn’t bounce up and break a window. Luck was on her side and she finished dropping the bars without incident. Marinette stepped back inside, shut the door, and basked in the air conditioning. It felt downright frigid after being out in the hot sun. Shivering, Marinette went downstairs.

Sabine was in the kitchen, staring into the fridge.

“Mama?” 

“I was just thinking about a snack. Are you hungry?”

“There are some macarons,” Marinette said with a tip of her chin. 

Sabine took a cookie from the bag and bit into it. “Delicious. Your father would be proud.”

Marinette didn’t answer.

Sabine swallowed and changed the subject. “Did you meet with the neighbors?”

“Briefly,” Marinette said and told her mother about Mylène, the old woman, and Diana.

“That was very nice of her,” Sabine remarked. “But if her French is as rusty as she believes, I don’t imagine she’ll be able to help me.”

“It’s just nice to know she’s there,” Marinette continued. “What if something happens and I’m not here to translate for you?”

“That’s why I need to learn English,” Sabine said and helped herself to another cookie. 

Tikki ran into the kitchen, batting at a little ball of dust. She stopped abruptly, groomed herself, and trotted over to the basement door. 

Marinette watched her cat and murmured, “What about the Agrestes?”

“They probably just lived in the house before us,” Sabine said. “This house was built a long time ago, probably before the 1900s, but much of it has been updated. Someone put a lot of time into it.”

Oddly, the previous owners had stopped renovating in the middle of the weird basement, Marinette thought. Sabine was probably right, though. Mylène was sick and that old woman had dementia. There was no reason to think anything of what they had said. The Agrestes had simply lived in the house before the Dupain-Chengs. 

“Have you started on that schoolwork?” Sabine asked.

“Not yet.”

“It’s going to sneak up on you, ma chérie,” she said. “You’d better get cracking.”

“I will, I will,” Marinette promised. “Right after I have a snack.”

…

Night had fallen by the time Marinette found herself at her desk with the new schoolbooks spread before her. There was just too much to do in this new house and Marinette loved a project. After eating all the macarons with Sabine, she neglected the schoolwork in favor of filling the fountains. All three now babbled merrily in the backyard. Tomorrow, she would try to pull some weeds and trim back the rosebushes—if—and only if, she plowed through the schoolwork in front of her.

Tikki jumped onto Marinette’s desk and meowed, nosing over the vase of pens and pencils for attention. Marinette rested her chin on Tikki’s back so she could peer over her and scratched her vigorously with both hands. Tikki purred loudly, bending and twisting delightedly into Marinette’s hands.

It was a simple matter to familiarize herself with the reading and math in her new school. She had been told that France’s education system was about a year ahead of America, but she hadn’t quite believed it until the curriculum was spread before her. The math was something she had learned already and, though she had never heard of the book, the reading level was lower than what she was used to. At least school wouldn’t become a problem for her. She had enough to worry about.

Dreamily, she rubbed her face into Tikki’s soft fur and closed her eyes. Listening to the cat purring made all seem right with the world. Marinette could fall asleep at her desk, cuddled up with Tikki, listening to the soft music drifting up from behind her.

Marinette listened to the humming for several minutes before realizing that her iPod was plugged into its speaker in front of her and it was turned off. Sabine was in the bathroom, taking a well-deserved bath after the long day they had both had working on the house. There shouldn’t be anyone humming. 

Marinette unwound her arms from Tikki and turned slowly around. 

Seated at the foot of Marinette’s bed was a boy. He had his narrow back to Marinette. All she could see of him was the white of his shirt and his golden hair. At the threshold of Marinette’s bedroom door sat a black cat, its green eyes gleaming at her.

“How did you get in here?” Marinette demanded and jumped up from her desk.

Like smoke, the boy immediately vanished. 

At the threshold, the cat meowed mournfully. It turned and walked away. 

Marinette rushed to the door, caught herself on the frame, and looked quickly around. There was no sign of the boy or the cat. Both had vanished without a trace. Breathing hard, Marinette leaned over the railing and looked down into the foyer. It was empty as well.

“Ma chérie?” 

Marinette whirled around.

Sabine stood in the hallway in her bathrobe, a towel wrapped around her dark hair. “Is something wrong? I called you three times.”

“No, nothing,” Marinette said.

Sabine stepped a little closer and pushed a lock of dark hair from Marinette’s face. “Did you have a dream?”

“What? No! I didn’t fall asleep,” Marinette said.

Sabine chuckled. “You have print on your cheek.”

Marinette wiped her face with both hands and her fingers came away smudged with ink. She didn’t remember falling asleep, but what could that had been, if not a dream? “I guess I did,” she murmured and rubbed her stained fingers against her pajama pants. “I must have.”

“Don’t overwork yourself, ma chérie,” Sabine said. “Goodnight.” She pressed a kiss to Marinette’s forehead and headed down the hallway to her room. 

Tikki rubbed against Marinette’s leg and meowed. Marinette scooped the cat up and carried her back into her room. She shut off her desk lamp, turned on the television, and tucked herself beneath the covers. The light of the television played across the walls, alternately creating and banishing shadows. Marinette forced herself not to think about what she had seen and focused on the late-night sitcom.

X X X

Questions, comments, concerns? 


	5. School Daze

Today is snake-feeding day. Yay! I actually like Mondays because I'm off from one whole job and can relax! (And feed my trio of spoiled rotten ball pythons.)

X X X

Monday snuck up on Marinette. She dressed hastily, pulling on the first pair of jeans and t-shirt she laid eyes on. She bolted downstairs, crammed a granola bar into her mouth, and rushed outside to catch the bus. The last thing she saw was her mother’s smile. They might have moved into a new house in a new country, but it wasn’t helping Marinette’s chronic lateness. Luckily, Marinette had an easy time finding the bus stop because Mylène and a red-haired girl were already waiting there.

“Good morning, Marinette,” Mylène greeted. “I was wondering if you would start school today.”

Marinette caught her breath, resting her palm against a tree. “I’m glad you’re feeling better, Mylène,” she said.

“It was just a cold,” Mylène said dismissively, but she smiled. “I think your delicious cookies helped.”

Marinette looked around Mylène at the red-haired girl. “Hi, I’m Marinette,” she said politely.

The red-haired girl looked her up and down, sighed heavily, and said, “I’m Sabrina.”

“It’s nice to meet you.”

“How can you live in that house?” Sabrina demanded. The edge of her nose curled with disdain. 

Marinette was taken aback. “Excuse me?”

“Sabrina,” Mylène snapped.

With a hiss of air brakes, the school bus cut through the early morning gloom of the surrounding woods. It pulled to a stop in front of the trio. Sabrina marched up the stairs and immediately sat down at the very rear of the bus. She pointedly didn’t look in Marinette’s direction.

Mylène took the first available seat and smiled at Marinette. “You’re welcome to sit with me, if you like.”

Though Marinette wanted to pursue Sabrina and ask what she meant by that, she had a feeling it wouldn’t go well. She wasn’t really looking to start her first day in a new school with a fight. Gratefully, she sat down beside Mylène and perched her backpack in her lap.

“Don’t mind Sabrina,” Mylène said softly. 

“What did she mean by that anyway?” Marinette asked. “Is something wrong with my house?”

Mylène went pale and looked away, betraying herself. 

However, she was spared from answering when the bus stopped again. Two of the rowdiest people Marinette had ever seen bounced onto the bus. The first was a caramel-skinned girl with full auburn hair. She argued ferociously with a chocolate-skinned boy. Since he had headphones on, music blaring, the two were practically screaming at each other. 

Mylène raised her voice. “Good morning, Alya, Nino!”

“Good morning, Mylène,” Alya answered and plopped down in the seat behind them. She lowered her voice now that she wasn’t shouting at Nino. “Who’s your new friend?”

Nino dropped down beside Alya, greeted Mylène with a fist-bump, and dropped his headphones around his neck. Marinette could still hear his music even after he turned it down. He would certainly be deaf by the time he hit twenty-five. 

“This is Marinette,” Mylène said, gesturing between them. “This is Alya and Nino.”

“Charmed,” Alya greeted.

Nino offered Marinette a fist bump too.

“Marinette just moved here,” Mylène continued.

“Oh? From where?” Alya asked.

“Paris,” Marinette told them.

“No way! France?” Nino exclaimed. “That’s so cool.”

“What’s it like?” Alya asked excitedly. “I’ve never been out of the States.”

Within minutes, Marinette was swept into the conversation. She forgot all about what Sabrina had said, about her chipped nail polish, about the way her throat felt tight. They arrived at school and Marinette lost herself in the maze of classes, teachers, and students. At lunchtime, Alya found her and invited her to sit with them. Again, she found herself talking about her life in France. Though Marinette had expected to be marked as an outcast, she was relieved to find that everyone listened with genuine interest. 

The rest of the day flew by in a blur of introductions and explanations. Marinette sat beside Mylène on the way home, chatting with Ayla and Nino about what her school had been like in France. She was a little disappointed when the bus rumbled to a stop. Sabrina got off with Marinette and Mylène, but walked away without looking back. Abruptly, Marinette remembered what she had said that morning. She didn’t bother to try to ask Mylène again.

“See you tomorrow?” Mylène asked.

Marinette nodded and waved as she hurried home. She blasted in through the front door, shouted hello to her mother, and rushed upstairs. She powered on her laptop and plopped down heavily at her desk. She opened Google, typed in her new address, and hit search.

Too many results filled the screen.

Marinette’s breath caught in her throat. 

Without reading further, she clicked on the first link. The name Agreste was displayed in the title. It loaded too slowly, giving Marinette too much time to listen to the ragged tattoo of her own heartbeat. She resisted the urge to refresh the page or to click restlessly and waited for the page to load. Then, she wished she hadn’t. 

The headline stood out in bold print from an old newspaper, ‘Son of Fashion Mogul Murdered.’

Marinette slammed her laptop shut, knocking aside pencils, and reeled away from her desk. She doubled over in her seat, head between her knees. All at once, the countless newspapers bearing headlines of the wretched accident that took her father’s life swarmed her. Her mind was blanketed with the image of Tom’s face in that moment before impact. She felt the car crushing in around her and the spray of sharp glass on her skin all over again. The scent of burning rubber and hot metal filled her senses. Nausea clawed up her throat, searing like liquid fire.

Marinette tried to suck in some air, wheezing desperately. The memories dug clawed fingers into her, holding on for all they were worth. She would suffocate beneath them, beneath the weight of newspaper articles and the grave. She felt buried, unable to breathe or think. She could only see her father’s face, see his dripping blood, the life draining from his eyes. She had watched him die inches from her, unable to move or speak. 

Tikki swept between Marinette’s legs, purring and meowing urgently. Her claws pricked Marinette’s arms like the glass had.

Marinette remained doubled over, trying to get a handle on her choking panic. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think—it was all hot metal and blood and death—the newspapers, her petal-pink fingernail polish, the face of her father, the breaking window, the pain, the smell—she had watched him die—

Something cold pressed against the back of her neck.

With a gasp, Marinette focused on the icy pressure. It gave her something to think about, something to anchor herself against. She pushed into it and felt it push back. As though surfacing through a deep dark lake, Marinette swam out of her jagged memories. She managed a deep breath and then another. Her vision cleared.

She could see Tikki’s soft red fur, her tightly-clenched fingers, her scuffed shoes. She wasn’t in the car, wasn’t in the accident, wasn’t even in Paris. She was in her new home in America and she was alright, even though her father was gone. She breathed deeply through her nose and let it out slowly through her mouth. The panic attack subsided, pulling backwards like a monster being banished into the shadows again. She knew it would return at the slightest provocation, but—for now—it was gone.

“Thanks, Mama,” Marinette murmured. “I’m okay.”

The cold pressure left the back of her neck.

Marinette sat up. She kept her eyes closed against the wave of dizziness for a moment and then opened them. 

Sabine was not kneeling beside her as she had suspected. In fact, Sabine was not there at all. 

It was the boy—the one from her nightmare, the one that had been humming on her bed, the one who had to have been a dream. He knelt beside her, looking up into her face with concern. Marinette opened her mouth to scream, but the sound died on her lips. She could see the bed behind him and, not only that, she could see the bed through him. 

His body was slender, he had pale hair and white skin, he wore a button-up shirt and slacks, and Marinette could see right through him. His torso, his bent legs, his face, and even his hand where it rested on the arm of her desk chair were all completely translucent. His eyes were the only piece of him that seemed truly there. Those green orbs watched her with concern.

“Oh god,” Marinette whispered. 

A little smile touched his lips. He dipped his head very slightly, as though to reassure himself or her. Then, he vanished. His body had been so ephemeral that Marinette couldn’t pinpoint the moment he was gone. He was there beside her one moment and then he wasn’t.

The empty space haunted her.

She wasn’t sure how long she sat there, staring at the floorboards where he had been crouched, but Tikki finally pawed at her ankle. She looked down at her cat with a jolt of surprise. Tikki meowed and rubbed against Marinette’s shins. She snatched the cat into her arms and held her tightly, staring at the place where the boy had been.

“Tikki,” she whispered. “Was that… was that…?”

Tikki meowed.

“Ma chérie,” Sabine called from downstairs. “Would you like a snack? How was school?”

Marinette cast one more look at the floorboards beside her desk chair, jerked to her feet, and bolted downstairs with Tikki still clutched in her arms.

Sabine looked over at her when she barreled into the kitchen. She put aside the pork chops she had taken from the refrigerator and faced Marinette fully. “Ma chérie, are you alright?” Sabine asked. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

A strangled giggle escaped Marinette’s lips. She glanced at the basement door, relieved beyond words to find it closed. “You could say that,” she whispered.

Sabine tilted her head in concern. “Ma chérie?”

“I’m fine, Mama,” Marinette said quickly. She let Tikki jump down from her arms. “I just… had a little panic attack. I’m a little shaken.”

Sabine crossed the kitchen immediately and swathed Marinette in her embrace. “Are you alright, ma chérie?” she murmured. “What triggered it?”

Marinette wasn’t ready to tell her mother about what might have happened in the house, about the translucent boy she had seen beside her, about what it felt like to watch the light leave her father’s eyes. “I don’t know,” she murmured instead. 

“You don’t have to go back to school if you’re not ready,” Sabine murmured.

“No, no,” Marinette assured her. “It wasn’t because of school.” The last thing she wanted was to stay home all day with nothing to distract her thoughts. 

Sabine guided Marinette to sit down at the kitchen table, gave her a glass of water and some cookies, and sat down across from her. She didn’t say anything, just gazed at Marinette with love and sorrow. The accident weighed heavily on both of them. 

Marinette drank some water, trying to quell the shaking in her hands. “I’m fine,” she said after a moment. She tried not to think about how much worse her panic attack could have been if not for the cold pressure of that boy’s hand on her neck. She needed to know more, but she wasn’t about to risk another attack from looking at newspaper headlines. “What are we having for dinner?”

“Pork chops,” Sabine said. She let Marinette change the subject, but her eyes mapped Marinette’s every move.

“I’m okay,” Marinette said again. “Really, I am.” 

She rose from the table and walked away, stopping once she reached the foyer. Her curiosity pleaded that she go into the master bedroom and go through some boxes, but her pounding heart said otherwise. She had schoolwork to do, but she wasn’t sure she was ready to go back into her bedroom. Instead, she went into the library, opened a box of books, and began to line them up on the shelves. Slowly, her hands stopped shaking and she was able to breathe more easily. 

…

Marinette found one excuse or another to stay out of her room for the rest of the afternoon. She went into the backyard, pulled some weeds, and trimmed the burgeoning rosebushes. Now, they would be able to see the angel fountain from the kitchen. She carried in a bouquet of roses and set them on the kitchen table.

“Lovely,” Sabine said over dinner. She gazed out the window at the angel. “The fountain is beautiful too.”

“I got them all working,” Marinette said. “They had just run dry.”

Sabine smiled. “You’re a miracle worker.”

Marinette looked at the tall angel, her stone face serene as she looked down on the pool at her feet. “We should get some fish for the fountains.”

“We can look at fish this weekend,” Sabine promised.

“How’s learning English going?”

Sabine made a wishy-washy motion with her hand. “It has to be the most ridiculous language ever. What is this nonsense about goose and geese? How does that make any sense?”

Marinette chuckled. “I think English originated as a language for drunks and it just caught on.”

Sabine nodded eagerly. “That must be it. Lots of things drunks do catch on, like karaoke.” 

“Dinner was delicious. I’ll clean up,” Marinette told her mother. 

“Thanks, ma chérie,” Sabine said and dropped a kiss on Marinette’s forehead. “I’m going to take a shower then.”

“Enjoy,” Marinette said. 

She stacked the dirty dishes in the sink, swept the leftovers into Tupperware, and put them into the fridge. She took her time washing the dishes, trying to put off going to her room, but two people didn’t generate much to clean up. Marinette cast a look at the basement door, turned off the kitchen light, and hustled upstairs. She could hear the shower running as she hesitated outside her bedroom door. What would she do if she opened the door and saw that boy there?

Marinette gave herself a shake. For goodness sake, she was from Paris. She had lived atop the Catacombs her whole life. Why was she so afraid? Why was it as though death had filled every aspect of her life, even now after she had moved to a new country to be as far from the memories as possible? She stared at her chipped petal-pink nail polish. If she was stronger, she was certain the doorknob would have broken in her palm. 

Taking a deep breath, Marinette hurled the door open and burst into her bedroom. It was empty—completely and utterly empty. Everything was where she had left it, right down to the things she had knocked over on her desk when she slammed her laptop. She crept slowly into the room, pushed in her desk chair, and righted the pencils.

Nothing happened. The boy did not reappear. 

Maybe she had imagined it, she thought, sure, and denial was just a river in Egypt. She breathed out slowly, looked around, and gave into the desire to search. She opened the closet, looked under her bed, and checked the balcony. No one was there. She was alone in her bedroom. 

Marinette sank down on her bed.

Unbidden, her eyes strayed to her laptop. It lay on the straightened desk, the portal to all the knowledge in the world was at her fingertips, innocently closed. All she had to do was cross her room, open the laptop, and finish the search she had started. As she stared at it, the space between stretched like a chasm. If she strayed too close, she would tip into it and plummet to her doom.

Papers. 

They folded themselves as little oragami spears—weapons that stuck into her mind, soul, and heart. There had been too many papers. They consumed her like the coating of snow to cover a grave. After the accident, there had been too many papers. Police reports and hospital charts, articles and headlines, black and white photographs of the scorched ruin of Tom's car, the image of Tom's smile above his obituary. Marinette couldn't bear any more emblazoned papers of life's cruelties. She couldn't finish the search.

Tikki padded into Marinette's room, her tail swishing. She stopped at Marinette's feet, looked up at her with big deep eyes, and meowed.

Marinette scooped the cat into her lap and cuddled her beneath her chin. She cast her eyes around her bedroom one more time, but no one—nothing—reappeared. 

…

The sun was golden and warm on Marinette's skin as she stood at the bus stop the next morning. Mylène wasn't there yet and Marinette rubbed her fingers against the seam of her jeans restlessly. The previous night, in the dark of her room with the sight of the ghostly apparition still prickling against her nerves, it had seemed logical to just ask someone what the story behind her house was. However, now that the sun was shining and the birds were singing, she didn't think it was such a good idea. 

She liked being 'the new student from France,' but she didn't want to become 'the crazy new student from France who sees ghosts.' 

Marinette let her breath out slowly and raked some loose tendrils of hair back from her face. She could just make out the white siding of her new home peeking through the dense dark forest. Maybe that was why it had been so cheap—something bad had happened there.

A flash of red caught her attention and she turned to face Sabrina. Sabrina looked as though she wished Marinette wasn't there or, at least, wished Marinnette hadn't noticed her. She stood a few feet away with her eyes fixed straight ahead. Now Marinette didn't have to wonder about what Sabrina had said yesterday. Sabrina and Mylène must have known about the dead fashion mogul's son already. Hell, everyone probably knew about it—except Sabine. Suddenly, Marinette was grateful her mother didn't speak more than five words of English.

Sabrina ignored Marinette and Marinette didn't volunteer a start to any conversation. They stood together in awkward silence until Mylène trotted up to them.

“Good morning,” Mylène said brightly. 

Marinette smiled at her. “Good morning.”

“Did you get all the math homework finished?” Mylène asked. 

“Of course,” Marinette said. “It was easy.” She had learned all that Algebra in France almost two years ago. It was almost comical how easy America's schoolwork was when compared to what she was used to.

Mylène's face fell a little. “Really? I thought it was so difficult.”

Marinette backpedaled, embarrassed. “Maybe I could help you,” she offered.

Mylène brightened. “That would be amazing. I've always struggled with math.”

Marinette nodded happily. “No problem. Math is my best subject. Would you like to come over to my house after school?”

Mylène's excitement washed from her face replaced with a jolt of surprise and fear. “Oh, um—”

“No one is going to go into that house,” Sabrina bit out. “I don't know how you can live in it.”

Mylène gasped.

Marinette turned towards Sabrina. “No matter what happened there,” she said sternly, “it's still just a house.”

Sabrina's eyes lit on Marinette like tiny twin flames, searing into her. “So you do know about what happened there,” she hissed. “How you can still live there?”

“I don't have a choice,” Marinette said. “I'm going to make the best of it.”

Sabrina's mouth twisted downwards and her nose curled.

Mylène flailed between them. “Please, stop.”

Marinette wanted to keep talking to Sabrina and find out whatever she knew about the mansion, but Sabrina turned away with a sharp snort and ignored her. Marinette sighed and faced Mylène who smiled uneasily. 

“You're welcome to come to my house, Marinette,” Mylène said.

Marinette kept her smile firmly in place. “And you are welcome at mine too, Mylène.”

Mylène's smile wavered. “T-thank you.”

Through the dense trees, Marinette glimpsed the bright yellow bus. It whooshed to a stop in front of them and the three girls piled on. Mylène sat down and patted the space beside her, but Marinette chose a seat by herself. She listened to the chatter of the other students, trying to gather her thoughts. She wished she knew what had happened in her house, but just the thought of reading those gruesome articles made her ill. 

The bus stopped again and the noise level increased tenfold as Nino and Alya clambered aboard. Nino dropped into a seat just behind Mylène, but Alya plopped down beside Marinette with a grin. Marinette glanced at her, puzzled by the girl's sudden presence.

“Don't let it get to you,” Alya said immediately. 

“What?”

“The things everyone is going to say once they find out you're living in the Agreste Mansion. It's our town's favorite boogeyman.”

Marinette moistened her lips. “Boogeyman?”

“Did you know before you moved in?”

Marinette shook her head.

“I guess that makes sense, what with you moving here from France and all,” Alya said. “How could you have known?”

Marinette didn't answer. She hoped that Alya would tell her what happened in the house, but she didn't volunteer any questions. 

Alya didn't say anything about the house though. Instead, she took her smartphone out and began scrolling through some pictures and short articles. “Would you mind if I interviewed you for my blog? I'd love an insider's perspective about France. It's always been one of my favorite places.”

“Sure,” Marinette said. 

Alya grinned. “Awesome!”

Marinette almost invited Alya over to her house, but after what had happened with Mylène, she decided not to. It was depressing to think that any friends she made would probably be unwilling to ever come to her house. When she lived in France, everyone was always coming and going from her home above the bakery. Tom would offer them croissants and cookies and quiches, Sabine would greet them warmly as though they were her own, and it was wonderful.

But that had changed. Now, Tom was dead and Marinette now lived in what could only be described as a haunted house.

X X X

Questions, comments, concerns?


	6. Connections?

I warred with myself a little bit on where to end this chapter. On the one hand, I don’t want things to happen to quickly. On the other, I feel like I’ve already teased everyone enough. Let’s see which half of my thought-war won, shall we?

X X X

When Marinette came home from school, Sabine was seated in the living room with headphones in. She listened to and repeated several English words and phrases having to do with household items and rooms. So far, she didn't look frustrated which led Marinette to believe that she had just gotten started on today’s practice. In about an hour, Sabine would be fed up with the impossible grammar and spelling and head off to greener pastures. That suited Marinette just fine. 

Marinette made her way into the kitchen and dumped her backpack on the table. She had a glass of water to steady her nerves, found a flashlight, and then turned to face the basement door. It was innocently closed, no foul smell drifting up the stairs. Tikki lounged on the floor, rolled onto her back with her tail twitching idly. Marinette paused to give the cat a little scratch on the belly as she passed. 

Before she could think too hard about what she was doing, she opened the door and slowly descended the stairs into the basement. Marinette’s fingers touched the railing and it wobbled dangerously so she quickly retracted her hand. The final step was one of the worst, splintered with several nails sticking up from its surface. Marinette jumped over it and landed on the concrete firmly. The lights were working perfectly and the basement was brightly lit. Everything looked as she remembered it with the air-conditioning unit and water heater sitting in opposing corners. 

The half-finished room stood partially open, as Marinette had left it after her first time down here. The light was on inside the little room, spilling across the concrete floor, though the door was closed over enough that Marinette couldn’t readily see inside. She tightened her grip on the flashlight and crossed the basement. Making sure the two exterior bolts were pushed all the way back, she eased the door open the rest of the way and looked inside. As she had suspected, it was an utterly empty and unfinished room. The single porcelain toilet was all it contained. 

Marinette took a deep breath and called, “Hello?”

She held her breath, listening for the barest hint of an answer. Her heartbeat echoed in her ears.

“Hello?” Marinette tried again. “Is anyone… is anyone here?”

The little room was still and brightly lit. The toilet didn’t make a sound and not even the pipes rattled overhead. 

“I saw you in my bedroom,” she said slowly, cautiously. “You used to live here, didn’t you?”

Marinette wrapped her fingers around the doorframe and leaned slightly inside to take a better look. The little room revealed nothing. Though dusty, it was spotless and empty. 

“You can show yourself to me,” Marinette said. “Maybe I can help you.”

No one answered. The basement remained cool and silent. 

Letting her breath out slowly, Marinette eased the door shut. She crossed the basement, stepped carefully over the broken stair, and ascended back into the kitchen. Tikki was still lying on her back in the middle of the floor, eyes closed and whiskers twitching in her dreams. Marinette grabbed her backpack and slung it over her shoulder. She had homework to do, after all.

Sabine was still seated on the couch, eyes closed in concentration. Marinette didn’t disturb her mother and climbed the stairs to her bedroom. She spread her book across her desk and then hesitated, staring at her laptop. She entertained the thought of looking at articles, but the cold sweat that broke across the back of her neck changed her mind. She still wasn’t ready to look at newspapers, even if they were about someone else’s tragedy. With a sigh, she turned away from the desk and rested her forehead against the high edge of her dresser. She closed her eyes and stood there, thinking, breathing, listening.

She didn’t hear or sense anything. Breathing out, Marinette straightened up and found herself eye to eye with the small wooden box containing the pink flower pendant. She had found it when she unpacked the box of women’s clothes that she found in the master bedroom. Maybe she didn’t have to rely on trying to talk to spirits or using the internet. She had en entire room full of untapped information—at least, she hoped she did. For all she knew, the entire room was packed with unrelated furniture and clothing from a failed thrift shop.

Ignoring her homework, Marinette went down the hallway to the master bedroom. She nudged the door open, squeezed inside, and chose two boxes at random. Stacking them atop each other, she wriggled back out and returned to her room. She set both boxes down on her bed and plopped beside them. Sliding her fingertip beneath the dry crackling tape, she opened the first box and found another stack of women’s clothes inside. As before, they appeared to be from the 1920s. The second box was just the same. Marinette grabbed a marker from her desk and marked both boxes. She wanted to repurpose the clothing, but not right now. 

She carried the boxes back to the master bedroom and set them on the coffee table that blocked the door from opening all the way. She rolled up her sleeves and began moving things around. She needed something a little meatier than cardboard boxes. Maybe a trunk or the dresser that was leaned haphazardly against the wall with all the paintings crammed behind it. It was a lot like one of those sliding tile puzzles, Marinette thought, as she juggled boxes and heaved furniture. The single loose flowered vase continued to be a thorn in her side as she moved it from place to place, trying not to break it.

Finally, Marinette had organized enough of the boxes to allow the door to open all the way. Once the door was open, she shoved the coffee table into the hallway, put the flowered vase on top of it, and dove back inside. Even though the bathroom door was still blocked, Marinette had managed to create enough of a path that she could now walk through the room. As she had suspected, the windows in the master bedroom—like the windows in the rest of the house—were without bars. It was so weird.

At the foot of the massive canopy bed was a large steamer trunk. It had a rounded lid, the wood was rich cherry, and the brass locks were snapped in place. Surely something like this held at least some of the answers Marinette was looking for. If it contained clothes, she was going to be disappointed. Her fingers had just grazed the cool metal when a chill shot down her spine. 

She felt someone’s eyes on her.

Marinette whirled around and came face to face with the boy. His body was insubstantial, pale hair and white skin translucent, but his green eyes were so vivid that the color seemed to spill from him. He wore the same slacks and button-down shirt as before, though she wasn’t sure why she had expected different clothing. 

Marinette had thought of so many things to say to him while she was in the basement, but none of those words came to her now. She stared at him, her throat closed and her mouth dry. 

“Don’t,” he said. 

Marinette’s tongue abruptly unstuck from the roof of her mouth and she sputtered out, “H-hi.” 

The boy regarded her without blinking. His gaze was unnerving.

“I-I’m Marinette,” she continued.

Behind him, perched on the stack of boxes that Marinette had moved, was the black cat. Its green eyes studied them both.

“Wh-what’s your name?”

His expression flickered, torn between emotions that Marinette couldn’t put a name to. “You… you don’t know it?”

Marinette shook her head.

A tiny fragile smile touched his lips. “My name is Adrien.”

“Adrien,” Marinette repeated, tasting the name on her lips.

He inclined his head very slightly, lips still curved upwards at the corners.

Behind him, the cat abruptly yowled. 

Adrien jolted, turning to face the cat where it remained perched on the stack of boxes. The cat stretched out its paw, claws glinting. Adrien turned away, his green eyes straying beyond Marinette to the windows behind her. The fading sunlight caught in his green eyes and went through his skin, casting a strange faint shadow. 

“I have to go,” Adrien said in a voice that cracked like ice when water poured over it. “The sun is going down. I have to go back.”

“Back?” Marinette repeated. “Back to where?”

Adrien turned slightly to face her. His eyes met hers for a fraction of an instant and Marinette lost her breath. His gaze was despair, horror, and agony. “Back to… back to my r-room,” he whispered. Without another word, he vanished.

The cat remained where it was, green eyes focused on Marinette. Its long tail swished across the surface of the box and it meowed mournfully.

Marinette rushed out of the master bedroom. She crashed open her bedroom door, but Adrien was not there. She opened the door to her mother’s room and the spare bedroom to find both empty. The bathroom was empty as well. Where had he gone? What room? Marinette thought of the expression on his face, the fear in his voice, and a chill ran down her spine. Goosebumps rose on her arms and along her thighs.

The basement…

Marinette barreled down the stairs, skidded into the kitchen, and wrenched the basement door open. She flipped on the lights, flooding the space brightly. She tripped down the stairs, barely catching herself on the wobbling railing. The door to the small empty room with the single toilet inside was closed, as she had left it. Light filtered beneath the crack at the bottom.

Marinette pushed back to two locks and turned the handle, but the door didn’t budge. As it had been the very first time she had happened upon it, the door was wedged shut. Marinette heaved with all her strength to no avail. Breathing hard, she rested her forehead against the door and listened. For a moment, all she could hear was her own pounding heartbeat. Then, she began to pick out tiny whimpers and stifled sobs. 

“Adrien?” she called.

Her voice had no effect. The quiet weeping remained the same, growing neither quieter nor fiercer. Adrien—if it was indeed his spirit inside the little room—did not respond. 

Marinette tried the door again, but there was no change. If her voice could not reach him and she couldn’t open the door, she couldn’t do anything. She still didn’t know anything either and she had a feeling Adrien wasn’t going to be very forthcoming about what had happened to him. She could go back up the master bedroom and opened the trunk, but part of her wanted to respect Adrien’s wishes. 

With a sigh, Marinette turned away from the sealed door and climbed the stairs back into the kitchen. 

Sabine was waiting at the top of the steps. “Ma chérie,” she murmured. “Is something wrong?”

“No, nothing,” Marinette said.

“You ran into the basement and you’re as white as a sheet,” Sabine said and gently brushed some hair behind Marinette’s ear. “Did you have another attack?”

“No, no,” Marinette told her mother. “I’m alright. I just… thought I needed to check on the air conditioner.”

Sabine angled her head. “Is everything alright with it?”

“Yeah, it’s fine,” Marinette assured her. 

Sabine let the subject drop. “Are you hungry? What would you like for dinner?”

Marinette sank down at the kitchen table, turning her back on the basement door. Tikki jumped onto the kitchen table and mewled so Marinette scratched beneath her chin. “Anything is fine,” she told Sabine.

Sabine pulled open the refrigerator and rifled through until she found something she liked. “How about pork chops?”

“With applesauce?”

“If you’d like,” Sabine answered and set the package on the counter. “How was school? They aren’t treating you differently, are they, ma chérie?”

“Not too differently,” Marinette explained. “Most of my classmates and teachers are very interested in what life was like in France.”

Sabine stilled in her dinner preparations. “It’s not too hard on you, is it?”

Marinette shook her head. “I don’t talk about—” Her throat closed painfully over the words, making her clear her throat and try again. “I don’t talk about anything painful.”

Sabine smiled sadly at her daughter. 

“I’m alright,” Marinette reassured her. “What about you?”

“I’m hanging in there,” Sabine murmured. “It’s hard without your father though.”

Marinette nodded. Her throat felt tight and dry with emotion, but she fought back the tears. “How can I help with dinner?” she asked instead. 

Sabine smiled and visibly pushed away the sadness. “You can find the applesauce in one of the cupboards. I remember buying it, but I’m not sure where I put it.”

“No problem,” Marinette said. 

…

After dinner, Marinette went upstairs to shower. She gathered her pajamas and paused to scratch Tikki behind the ears. The cat perched on her carpet-covered tree in front of the window, both eyes fixed outside with rapt focus. Marinette followed her gaze, but it was too dark to see anything. 

Marinette ducked into the bathroom, turned on the faucet, and watched the dirty brown water filter away. Once steam wafted from the clear stream, Marinette stepped beneath the spray. She scrubbed her hair, shaved her legs, and then tried to relax. However, her conversation with the spirit—with Adrien—kept replaying over and over in her mind. She knew that ghosts were often pinned to a location by what had happened to them. Considering the headline ‘Son of Fashion Mogul Murdered,’ she imagined that his death had been terrible. She shouldn’t have been surprised that he was still attached to this house, but the way he was tormented… It was awful. 

His voice had cracked so painfully as he insisted that he needed to return to his room, to that strange empty room in the basement. The sound of his weeping and whimpering from inside still haunted her. She wished there was something she could do to help him, but how could anyone help the dead?

With a sigh, Marinette shut off the water and stepped out of the shower. She wrapped herself in a towel and combed her fingers through her loose hair. After brushing her teeth and hanging her towel up to dry, she returned to her bedroom. Tikki had hopped down from her perch and now lounged on the bed. 

Marinette cracked open a window to let in the cooler night breeze before flipping off the light and lying down beside Tikki. The darkness was quiet and comfortable. She could hear the fountains gurgling through the slightly open window. Marinette closed her heavy eyes, stroked Tikki’s soft fur, and fell asleep.

X X X

Encourage me. I just found out my friend is pregnant and all the planning I will be doing (along with both jobs) make me feel like there's just no time for writing anymore.

Questions, comments, concerns?


	7. In the House

My weekend was positively full of baby preparations. (Thank goodness it’s not mine though.) I made two diaper bags and two baby quilts, but hey a Monday update is a Monday update, no matter how late it comes, right? I actually wrote this whole chapter today.

X X X

Marinette woke panting, sweat-soaked, and freezing. However, the nightmare that had woken her remained out of reach. She wondered for a moment if it had been about the house, about Adrien, or about the car accident, about her father. Tikki lay sprawled on the pillow beside Marinette’s head, unmoving save her slow breaths. 

Marinette pulled the covers to her chest, shivering slightly, and looked around to for any sign of spirits. Her bedroom was empty as far as she could see, the unbarred windows allowing her a nice view of the moonlit lawn. She could see the shed, one of the fountains running as though with liquid silver, the fence surrounding the pool casting ornate shadows on the overgrown grass. The dark forest ringed the yard, as dense and thick as black velvet. It looked beautiful, like a painting.

Though Marinette wanted to go back to sleep, her heart was still pounding too hard. It felt as though it would break her ribs to escape. Maybe a glass of warm milk would steady her nerves enough to allow sleep back in. She pulled back the covers and put her feet on the cold hardwood floor. 

Tikki shot up abruptly. She rushed to the edge of the bed and looked down, both bright eyes focused intently. The hair along her back rose and her tail arched.

Irrational fear gripped Marinette. She hadn’t worried about anything being under her bed or inside her closet since she was four—or since she was ten and wanted her father to pamper her. As far as she was concerned, what kind of monster wanted to lurk in such a tight space anyway? What would they eat? The barely-visible ankles and fingers questing for a certain blouse? No, the monster under the bed was unlikely. But in a haunted house…?

“Adrien?” Marinette ventured.

A low sound escaped Tikki’s throat, something between a growl and a wail.

“Adrien? Is that you?” she asked again.

Nothing answered. 

Marinette took a deep breath to steel herself. She didn’t get down on her knees, wanting to be able to spring away if Adrien’s spirit was lurking creepily underneath her bed. She crouched instead, folding her legs into her chest and resting her weight on her heels. She felt a cool draft on her bare feet and legs. Abruptly, she wished she had donned more protective sleepwear.

Though there was no dust ruffle, her strewn blankets hung low enough to shelter something beneath the bed. 

Marinette grasped the comforter and whipped it back in one smooth motion. Cold air rushed at her, disturbed by the movement of the blanket. Tikki yowled and launched herself off the bed, skidding across the hardwood floor. Spitting, she arched and all the hair along her back stood up in a crest. 

Marinette’s heart jack-hammered against her ribs so hard that she couldn’t breathe. Goosebumps broke on her bare skin.

The space beneath the bed was empty save for the few things Marinette had stored beneath it. Nothing, neither spirit nor fanciful monstrosity, lurked there.

Marinette rose to her feet and turned towards her cat. “Tikki!” she scolded. “Would you quit it? You’re making me nervous for no reason!”

Tikki stopped hissing. She lowered her tail guiltily.

Marinette sighed and smoothed the rumpled covers back into place. She was more awake than ever now and milk was a definite necessity. As Marinette tucked her bare feet into warm slippers, Tikki meowed noisily and brushed against her calves. Shushing the cat, Marinette opened her bedroom door.

A dark haired woman reared in front of her. “Where do you think you’re going, you wretch?” she screamed.

A shriek clogged Marinette’s throat and she slammed the door as hard as she could. 

Tikki yowled loudly. Her tail was puffed to twice its size.

The knob turned with painstaking slowness, though Marinette was certain the delayed time existed only in her mind. She grabbed the knob with both hands and tried to prevent the door from opening. The metal was ice in her hand, so cold that it felt as though her skin was burning. The knob jiggled, fought to turn, struggled, and then stilled. Marinette kept her grip on the doorknob, unwilling to allow the woman into her room if she could help it. 

Marinette’s mind whirled. How had someone gotten into the house? She was certain she had locked the front door before going to sleep, but she hadn’t checked all the windows. It was possible that one had been open and anyone with determination and a rock could have broken one regardless. What kind of burglar waited outside the door for her to get up? Marinette shook that thought away. Certainly, the timing was only coincidence. 

Oh god, her mother! 

The knob had stopped moving and the burglar could be stalking Sabine right now. Sabine had no idea that someone was in the house, waiting to steal or murder. Marinette glanced across the room to where her phone lay on the nightstand. She would have to let go of the doorknob to get to it. Heart hammering, she slowly let go of the knob, breath caught in her throat. She stared at the knob, backing slowly away. Would it turn? Had the woman moved on to the unknowing Sabine? She fumbled on the nightstand, searching for her phone without taking her eyes from the knob.

What was the number for emergencies in America? 

Marinette’s fingers shook as she pressed the buttons and finally lifted the phone to her ear. She listened to the few rings, heart bottled in her throat. 

A woman answered, “911, what is the location of your emergency?”

The knob turned abruptly, one sharp brutal twist that loosened the screws, and the door crashed open with the force of a cannon. Tikki howled and a shriek of surprise escaped Marinette’s lips. Despite herself, as the woman closed the space between them, Marinette squeaked out the address. 

“How dare you speak to someone,” the dark-haired woman screamed.

The 911 operator asked Marinette something, but it didn’t register through the panic clouding her mind. She didn’t answer, just gripped the phone in white-knuckled fingers and stared in terror as the dark haired woman stalked towards her. Marinette didn’t realize that she had been backing away until her back met cool glass. The balcony door was behind her. 

“No one is coming to help you,” the dark haired woman screamed. 

Tikki darted through the open bedroom door.

“No one will ever come to help you.” The woman stretched out her hands, manicured nails gleaming with a red polish the color of blood.

Marinette tried to ward her off, the phone still clutched in her hand. Between the moonlight and the glow of the screen, she could see the dark haired woman’s wild features. Behind wire-rimmed glasses like a fence, her eyes were dark pits, soaking up all the light and giving nothing back. The woman closed her hands on Marinette’s shoulders, lacquered nails digging into her bare flesh.

The instant of the touch, Marinette knew something was wrong. The dark haired woman’s hands were cold—no, beyond cold. They were the cold of snow, of icy metal, of death. Marinette’s hand where she had gripped the knob so desperately pulsed with pain not unlike a burn. The feeling spread through her shoulders, into her bones, soaking away every strength that she felt. 

“No one is coming to help you,” the dark haired woman said again. Though she still screamed, her voice felt deep and soft. Her dark eyes swallowed everything.

A sort of finality settled into Marinette’s heart. Her cold fingers went numb and the phone dropped from her hand. She heard it strike the hardwood and heard the 911 operator speak again.

“No one,” the woman snarled.

Light flooded Marinette’s dark bedroom. 

The dark haired woman and the ice-cold peeled away from Marinette and she gasped in relief. Her knees buckled and she slumped, sagging against the balcony door weakly. The phone stared up at her, bright little screen counting the seconds that ticked by. It seemed unreal that so small an increment had passed—a few minutes. It felt to Marinette like an eternity.

Tikki darted between Sabine’s legs and leaped onto Marinette. She put both paws on Marinette’s chest and meowed.

Habitually, Marinette lifted a hand to pet her precious cat. 

“Ma chérie,” Sabine said urgently. She crossed the bedroom and knelt beside Marinette. “What happened? A nightmare?”

Marinette couldn’t respond. Her throat was dry and tight, a stranglehold as though the dark haired woman still gripped her. The woman was a spirit, Marinette realized as Sabine touched her shoulders. Her mother’s touch felt like a brand, so hot and searing where the chill had sunk into Marinette’s bones.

“Ma chérie, are you sick? You’re freezing.”

That’s what the dark haired woman must have been. She was another spirit trapped within this house.

“Ma chérie?” Sabine asked with concern.

But Marinette couldn’t tell her mother or the 911 operator that. With shaking hands, Marinette picked up the phone and cradled it to her ear. 

“Miss?” the operator said urgently. “I’ve sent an officer to your address. Help is on the way. Just hold on.”

“I’m sorry,” Marinette choked into the receiver. “It was just a nightmare. I’m so sorry. I called you for nothing.”

Silence stretched on the operator’s end. “Are you saying that under duress? Is someone still there with you?”

“No, no,” Marinette said. Her voice cracked as tears gathered in her eyes. “I’m fine, really. It was just a nightmare.”

“An officer is still on the way,” the operator said. “Please, stay on the line with me until the officer arrives.”

Marinette folded her hand over her mouth, trying to stifle the sobs that tore from her. She understood the operator’s concern, but shame bubbled in her chest. She didn’t want anyone to come out to this house, the Agreste Mansion, this haunted place. Even if the officer knew what had happened here, Marinette would still sound crazy if she tried to tell them that the ghost had attacked her. In order not to seem mad, she would have to seem foolish at least—the foolish girl from France who had lost her father and had screaming nightmares that made her call 911.

“Alright,” Marinette relented since she didn’t have a choice. 

“Thank you,” the operator answered.

“Ma chérie?” Sabine asked softly.

“I had a nightmare, Mama,” Marinette explained, “and I called the emergency line by mistake. They’re sending an officer to check on us.”

Sabine nodded in understanding. Gently, she stroked Marinette’s hair and rubbed her chilled shoulders.

Marinette looked beyond Sabine, though. She scanned her surroundings for signs of anything—or anyone—that didn’t belong there. She spotted the dark outline of a cat in the threshold and tightened her grasp on Tikki to reassure herself. The black cat’s eyes caught the bedroom light and glinted. Without a sound, the cat disappeared.

…

Marinette didn’t go to school the next day. She didn’t think she could bear hearing any whispers or stories about the crazy French girl who moved into the Agreste Mansion. Despite what had happened in the house, Marinette doubted anyone was ready to believe she was seeing ghosts. 

Marinette dragged herself out of bed after noon. She hadn’t been able to fall asleep after everything that had happened in the night and was exhausted. The dark-haired woman’s touch still chilled her despite the heat and humidity outside. She put on a t-shirt, brushed her teeth, washed her face, and was momentarily grateful for the lack of mirror in the bathroom. The last thing she wanted to see right now was her own exhausted face. She twisted the cap securely back onto the toothpaste and winced.

A blister lined her palm where she had gripped the knob the night before. Superficial frostbite, Marinette thought, even in the middle of summer, but she supposed the supernatural didn’t bow to the seasons. She examined her hand for any numbness or damage, but it appeared that the first few layers of skin were blistered—nothing more and nothing less. It wasn’t life threatening or dangerous. Marinette put a Band-Aid over it to keep Sabine from noticing. 

She headed downstairs, cautiously looking around for a sign of the woman’s spirit. As she stepped into the foyer, there was a knock at the door. For a moment, Marinette froze. What if it was the dark haired woman returning to finish was she started? Marinette shook herself. That was silly. The ghost already lived in this house and had no need to knock. Marinette opened to door to Diana Bourgeois and her mother.

“Hi,” Diana said cheerfully. She held out a container of soup that looked delightful if all the colorful vegetables were any indication. “I thought I’d bring you a little something in return for the macarons. They were so delicious.”

“We’re here to visit Adrien, dear,” the old woman said. “Why are we tittering with the hired help?”

“Mother,” Diana scolded. “I told you, Adrien doesn’t live here anymore.”

The old woman fell silent, her face twisted with confusion.

“I’m sorry about that,” Diana said to Marinette. “I don’t believe you’ve properly met my mother, Chloé.”

Politely, Chloé held out a gloved hand. She looked hard at Marinette as though struggling to properly see her. “Charmed.”

“Likewise,” Marinette said and released the old woman’s frail fingers. 

“Anyway, soup for you,” Diana said. 

Marinette accepted the container gratefully. “It looks delicious. Thank you, but you didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to,” Diana said. She peered around Marinette and into the house curiously. “I saw the police car here last night. Is everything alright?”

“Fine, yes,” Marinette assured her. “I have night terrors and one got the better of me.”

“Night terrors?” Diana repeated.

Marinette nodded. She didn’t particularly want to elaborate on the nature of her real nightmares. Diana was Sabrina’s mother so it was fair to think that anything she confided in Diana would find its way to Sabrina and then back to school. Luckily, Diana didn’t press her.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Diana said kindly. “If there’s anything I can do to help, just let me know.”

“I will,” Marinette said. “Thanks again for the soup.”

Sabine came out of the hallway leading to the kitchen, drawn by the sound of voices speaking in English. “Ma chérie? Who is it?”

Marinette turned towards Sabine. “Mama, this is Diana and Chloé. They’re our neighbors from across the street.”

Diana smiled and then said very haltingly in French, “I studied abroad. Let me know if I can help you.”

Sabine beamed and answered slowly, “Thank you.”

Chloé nudged beside Diana, peering into the house. Her blue eyes were so pale that they were almost colorless and she gazed right through Marinette. After the night she had, it unnerved her and she took a step back, drawing Diana’s attention from the halting conversation in French with Sabine.

“Mother,” Diana chided and then smiled thinly at Marinette. “I know it can be a little strange, but Mother is harmless, really.”

Marinette nodded, but her skin crawled nonetheless. 

Diana turned her attention back to Sabine, bidding farewell.

Marinette was close enough to Chloé to smell her perfume. The old woman’s lips moved, but her voice was so faint that Marinette barely heard her words. “So many flashing lights for this house, police, police,” Chloé whispered. “They must have come to look for the body. Never did find it, did they? Poor Adrien. Has to be buried somewhere. Looked and looked, they did. Police, police, police…”

Marinette’s blood ran cold. Though the container of soup was still warm in her hands, she felt frozen to the very core of herself.

“Thank you for the soup,” Sabine said.

“You’re welcome,” Diana said. “Come along, Mother.”

Chloé allowed herself to be turned from the house easily, though her eyes tracked something that only she could see. 

Sabine shut the door behind them and studied Marinette. “Ma chérie, are you feeling better?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Marinette murmured. 

“Let’s eat something,” Sabine said gently. “The soup smells delicious, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah, it does,” Marinette agreed. 

Her mind and heart were not in the conversation with her mother and she ate without really tasting Diana’s soup. Her eyes strayed to the basement door as she replayed Chloé’s words over and over. The police had come to look for the body—Adrien’s body—and they had never been able to find it. Where was he buried? Was it somewhere in the house?

X X X

I finally finished my binge of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. God, I haven’t watched it since the 90s. Somehow, I remembered Buffy and Spike’s relationship being so much better than it really was (until the last few episodes at least). Now I just really want to write some Buffy fanfiction. Hopefully I can hold the impulse off. There is not enough room in my life for two stories right now.

Questions, comments, concerns?


	8. Three Portraits, Three Photographs

Fun Fact: I chose the names Diana and Edward for Sabrina’s parents because… they’re Sabrina the Teenage Witch’s parents! And now they’re just Sabrina’s parents. (I have a lot of inside jokes with myself when I write. If you can spot them, you’re my kindred spirit.)

X X X

After lunch, Marinette resisted the urge to tear through the house in a frenzy. Chloé’s words churned through her head in an endless loop not unlike ocean waves, beating steadily away at Marinette’s remaining composure. Her hands shook as she washed, dried, and put away the lunch dishes. She grasped the edge of the sink and leaned against the counter.

“Ma chérie?” Sabine murmured. “Are you feeling any better since last night? You still look pale.”

“A little bit,” Marinette said. “The soup was delicious.”

Sabine nodded, but studied her daughter’s face. “Ma chérie—”

“I think I’ll go through the master bedroom a little,” Marinette interrupted. “I need something to do with my hands and I think it will do me some good.”

Sabine didn’t disagree, but she didn’t look pleased. “Don’t overexert yourself, ma chérie.”

“I won’t,” Marinette promised. 

She forced herself to walk slowly from the kitchen and down the hallway. In the foyer, looking up the stairwell to the rooms on the second floor, Marinette forced herself to take a slow breath. Then, with a glance over her shoulder to make sure Sabine wasn’t watching, Marinette rushed up the stairs. She took them two at a time and managed not to trip. She crashed open the door to the master bedroom, catching it just before it could bang into the wall.

Everything was as she had left it in small heaps and piles of organized chaos. 

Her fingers itched to open the steamer trunk at the foot of the four-poster bed, but she held herself back. Adrien hadn’t wanted her to open it. What if it contained Adrien’s body? She would faint straight away, regardless of how prepared she thought she was for anything. After her father’s death… she couldn’t look at another dead person, the body just meat and the eyes as vacant as glass marbles. It was better to wait for Adrien to show himself. Then, maybe she could ask where his body was and finally get his spirit to rest after all the years he must have spent in this house.

Instead, Marinette went to the dresser that was tilted crookedly against the wall. Frames were crammed into the space behind it. Gingerly, Marinette tipped the dresser down onto all four of its feet. She brushed the dust from her hands and cautiously opened the first drawer. It contained neatly-folded though moth-eaten cravats in orderly rows. Marinette gingerly ran her fingertips over the slew of colors, patterns, and materials. 

The rest of the drawers spilled clothing like blood from a wound. They were crammed inside with no meaning or order. Men’s dress shirts and trousers mingled with women’s nylons and silk dresses. Marinette removed enough of the clothing to be able to close the drawers, putting the women’s clothes aside with the other boxes. 

Then, she circled the dresser and picked up the first frame. It was a stunning painting on a perfectly stretched canvas. The woman captured in delicate lights and shadows was as beautiful as a movie star. She was perched on a velvet settee, the image portraying her from the side. Sunlight accented her in warm colors, the ivory silk of her dress falling in soft ripples to her ankles. A pink flower-shaped broach was pinned near her throat. Her belly was round with pregnancy, a hand curving gently over and beneath the child growing within her. Her hair glimmered like spun gold, tumbling in waves over her slender shoulders. Her lovely emerald gaze fell on Marinette like a physical caress, spilling from within the confines of the painting. 

Marinette had only ever seen such a beautiful painting in museums and in textbooks. To hold something like this in her hands was astounding. Carefully, she turned the painting so she could see the back of the canvas, hoping for a name of the subject, the painter, or even the person who had commissioned the painting. Tucked at the back, just beneath a corner of the frame, was a photograph.

Marinette teased it from the corner, doing her best not to damage the old black and white image. She leaned the painting against the bed and examined the photograph. It became apparent that the artist had been given the photo to work from, adding color and soft lighting to the hard contrasts and movement blurs of early photography. 

The longer Marinette gazed at the photo, tiny details pricked at her mind. The woman’s hands cradled her belly almost protectively with the sharp angle of her knuckle, the bend of her wrist, and the press of her fingernails. It wasn’t uncommon for a pregnant woman to do so, sheltering the life within, but something bothered Marinette. The darkness beneath the woman’s eyes, the way she turned slightly away from the camera, even the way she held herself on the edge of the velvet settee… it unnerved Marinette for a reason she couldn’t put her finger on. Beneath the settee, there was a dark cat-shaped shadow—a kitten that had been playing while the photo developed, leaving the common movement blur of antique photography.

Turning the photograph over, she found a neat inky scrawl—‘My Dearest Adele’—and a simple date though the last digit was smudged badly, 1922. (1)

Marinette stared at the painting, comparing it to the photograph. Had Adele lived in this house? 

Had she died in this house?

Marinette tucked the photograph gently back beneath the frame and removed the next from behind the dresser. It was another oil painting no less beautiful than the one of Adele. Adele was seated in a quilt-draped chair, a bundle cradled in her arms, just the tiny pink face of a cherub peeking out. She wore a lovely lilac dress, the same pink broach pinned over her heart. Behind her, his hand resting on her shoulder, was an austere man. His features were sharp, aristocratic, with a long aquiline nose and thin yet smiling mouth. A cravat that matched Adele’s dress wrapped his throat. It was a family portrait.

Marinette tipped the portrait around and found another photograph tucked beneath the frame. Wriggling it free, she studied it and the immediate wrongness consumed her. The painter had put life into Adele’s features, into her smile and her hands, color into her cheeks and lips, life into her beautiful eyes. In the photograph, it became apparent that she was already dead.

Marinette had heard a lot about Victorian post-mortem photography, but she had never seen one in person. (2) Creepy didn’t quite cover what she felt as she gazed at it. Sure, it was unnerving, but it was also painfully sad. She studied the man standing behind Adele in the photo. His severe face was darkened with grief, made even sharper without his pleased smile. The baby, which looked like a cherub in the painting, must have been wailing when the photo had been taken. Chubby blurry little arms stretched from the bundle of blankets, clutching Adele’s dress just beneath her flowered broach. For her part, Adele slumped against the back of the chair, her chin tipped down, her eyes closed in perpetual sleep. She might have looked peaceful if not for the wreath of darkness surrounding her eye and creeping down her jaw.

Was her face marred by bruises, just an unfortunately-shaped shadow, or a harmless mark of death as her blood had settled beneath her skin?

Marinette sucked in a shaking breath and turned over the photo, hoping to find an inscription, but there was none. She put the photograph back beneath the edge of the frame. Then, Marinette picked up the third and final frame. It matched the others in color and design, but there was one horrific difference. The portrait had been defaced. 

The stern-faced man stood beside a straight-backed chair where a young man—if the clothes were any indication—was seated. The man’s features were without expression, gazing straight ahead like a mannequin. Seated beside him, Marinette could only make out the shape of a young man’s body clad in dark slacks and a button-down shirt. Where the young man’s face should have been, there was only a relentless hatch of inky marks. Someone had scribbled his face out in agitation, exposing the white canvas beneath the paint like bones beneath flesh.

Marinette turned over the portrait, no longer surprised to find the photograph the painting was based on tucked into the frame. In it, the man’s eyes were fixed on the photographer, piercing Marinette through the image. His eyes were like ice, thin mouth set in a frown, fingers curled over the straight-backed chair like claws. The young man was unmistakable, though younger than the spirit she had met by several years. It was Adrien, his face gaunt and lined with sorrow and fear. Rigid, fixed as though not even breathing, Adrien stared at the floor.

Marinette flipped the photograph over. Scribbled on the back were the names and date, ‘Gabriel and Adrien, 1933.’ If Adele had been pregnant with Adrien in the first photograph, that would make him eleven in this image. Marinette traced her thumb over Adrien’s sorrowful downturned face. 

What had happened to this family? It seemed that no matter how many stones she overturned, no matter what she learned, more and more questions took the place of the few facts she had gleaned. Shaking away her thoughts of Adele, Adrien, and Gabriel, Marinette put the photograph back into the frame and leaned the three portraits behind the dresser again. It wasn’t as if she could put them up, especially with Adrien’s face being demolished in the final portrait. 

Marinette brushed some dust and flecks of paint off on her jeans. Now that she had calmed slightly, it seemed unlikely that Adrien’s body was stuffed into the steamer trunk at the foot of the bed, but she was still loathe to open it. Adrien had pleaded with her not to, after all. 

Instead, Marinette began methodically opening boxes.

Tikki trotted into the master bedroom. She crouched, tail erect, and wriggled excitedly. Marinette didn’t have a chance to stop her before she vaulted into the open box of women’s clothing. Tikki settled down, watching Marinette with slitted eyes, daring her to remove the cat from her palace of cardboard and silk.

With a sigh, Marinette let her stay there as she worked through cataloguing the mess in the master bedroom. She stacked every box of clothing together, discovered several that contained books and put them in the hallway, and one box filled with delicately packages knickknacks like the flowered vase. She put the vase with the rest of the breakables and put it aside. Finally, she upended the table from the bed in a fantastic cloud of dust and stepped back to sneeze several times. All in all, she was surprised that Adrien hadn’t come to join her as she went through everything.

Swallowing, Marinette approached the steamer trunk and rested her hands on the rounded top. “Adrien,” she called. 

There was no answer, not that she had entirely expected one.

“I’m going to open this trunk.”

Still, there was no response.

“I mean it. I’m going to open it.”

The wood was cool beneath her fingertips, interspersed with the raised slats and textured by the ornate metal decals that shaped it. Her skin prickled with awareness, as though someone was standing with her, looking down at the trunk—looking into the trunk, knowing what lay inside it. 

Or maybe… someone was looking out of it.

“It looks better in here.”

Marinette jumped out of her skin, startled.

Sabine stood at the threshold, admiring Marinette’s handiwork. “Did you find anything interesting?”

“Not much,” Marinette lied. She didn’t want her mother to worry about what had happened in this house to make it so cheap or about the spirits still lingering within its walls. “A lot of clothes and some books.”

Sabine picked up a silk dress that Tikki had knocked out of the box she was curled inside and held it up. “Well, maybe it was easier to just leave behind. It’s out of style anyway, isn’t it, ma chérie?”

“True fashion never goes out of style,” Marinette told her mother with a smile.

Sabine held the dress up to herself. These clothes must have belonged to Adele, based on the period and style. It was too long on the petite French-Chinese woman and a chill abruptly went down Marinette’s spine at the thought of her mother trying on a dead woman’s dress. 

“On second thought,” Marinette said quickly, “maybe some things are meant to go out of style.”

Sabine nodded and dropped the dress on top of Tikki.

Unamused, the cat wrestled free of the dress and jumped out of the box. She trotted over to Marinette, dropped at her feet, and began grooming herself. 

Marinette scooped Tikki into her arms and cuddled her. 

“I might be able to move into this room soon,” Sabine remarked as she stepped inside to better observe the space Marinette had cleared and organized. A heavy desk still barricaded the bathroom door, pushed haphazardly against it with the drawers facing inwards and the roll-top lowered. Marinette hadn’t yet had a chance to go through the desk. “No word on the bathroom, ma chérie?”

“Still working on it,” Marinette said. “Maybe I’ll go through it tomorrow if I’m not feeling any better.”

Sabine nodded thoughtfully. “You know you can take all the time off from school that you need, ma chérie,” she soothed. 

“I know. Thank you, Mama.”

Sabine left the master bedroom.

Marinette let out a sigh of relief. With everything they were going through, the last thing she needed her mother worrying about was dark pasts and ghosts. Hopefully, she could get Adrien’s spirit to rest and the dark-haired woman—whoever she was—would follow and Sabine would never have to know. 

…

Marinette waited until Sabine was in the shower before venturing downstairs to the basement. She flipped on the light, crept cautiously down the damaged stairwell, and stepped onto the rough concrete floor. Her shoes scraped noisily in the sepulchral quiet. Marinette moved slowly through the open space, stretching out her hand to grasp the knob of the small room where she had heard Adrien’s spirit weeping the night before. Though speaking to him here had procured nothing so far, she wasn’t sure where else to try.

“Adrien?”

Marinette was surprised when the knob turned easily and the door swung open. The little room was deserted and in the same condition it always had been. 

“Adrien?” she called.

As expected, he didn’t answer.

With a sigh, Marinette shut the door and bolted it. She doubted the lock would stop a ghost, but maybe she could prevent him from going back into that creepy little room somehow. She climbed back up the stairs, shut off the basement light, and closed the door. 

Opening the refrigerator, she stood for a moment staring into the light and absorbing the cold air. It was comforting and familiar, stocked with all her favorite snacks and her mother’s plans for dinner throughout the week. Though lacking in the usual confectionary delights that Tom would have prepared, it was still a sight that soothed Marinette. Selecting a container of yoghurt, Marinette closed the fridge and came face to face with Adrien. He had been standing just behind the open door, hidden effectively until she closed it.

“Merde!” she cursed, the French word automatically sliding from her lips. She glanced over her shoulder to be certain Sabine hadn’t come into the kitchen and heard her. Content that she was alone, she turned back to Adrien and snapped, “I looked all over for you. What are you doing hiding behind the fridge?”

His green eyes—eerily like Adele’s in the painting—flit up from the floor and over her face. He looked confused, concerned, lost. “I…” he murmured, “I’m not sure.”

Marinette opened few drawers, unable to recall which contained silverware, and took out a spoon. She peeled the top off her yoghurt, discarded it, and dug her spoon in. When she turned back to Adrien, he was standing in the same position but his eyes were fixed on her.

“Marinette?” he said slowly.

“That’s me,” she told him. 

He regarded her, his expression unreadable beyond confusion.

“Did you forget me?” she asked.

“No, I… I don’t think so,” he said.

“You don’t think so?” she repeated.

If Adrien had been alive, Marinette imagined he would have shifted position with embarrassment. As a spirit, he didn’t move at all, but instead faded just slightly. Maybe all those human thoughts of wishing you could disappear from an embarrassing situation meant something once you were gone.

“Hey, hey,” Marinette said quickly. “It’s alright. I’m not upset. It’s probably difficult to remember things when you’re dead.”

His head snapped up, pupils blown so wide that only a tiny ring of green showed at the edges. “Dead?” 

Marinette backpedaled desperately. Was it possible Adrien didn’t realize he was dead? She had heard about such things, but she had never really imagined—

A chill shot through her leg, bolting unpleasantly through her muscles and into her bones. She yelped and jumped away, looking down into the face of the black cat. It mewled plaintively as though reprimanding her. Marinette looked quickly back up towards Adrien and saw that his eyes were closed.

“Right,” he breathed out. He opened his eyes slowly, staring at the cat. “I am dead. I’ve been dead for almost seventy years now, haven’t I?” He lifted his gaze to Marinette’s and stared into her as though he could see her every sin, every scar, every nightmare and dream. 

“S-seventy years?” Marinette gasped. Her fingers felt numb and cold around the container of yoghurt. 

Adrien looked away and the strange spell that had fallen over Marinette was broken. She sucked in a breath she didn’t know she had been holding.

“You were looking for me, you said,” Adrien remarked.

“Yeah,” she said and set down the yoghurt. “I-I was going through the master bedroom and I found three paintings. They’re of your family, I think.”

“Family,” he murmured and Marinette couldn’t quite tell if it was a question or not.

“Right. Your mother, Adele, and your father, Gabriel—”

The shape of Adrien flared, his edges giving way. All at once, he looked like a simple smudge of light. Marinette stared at the orb, stricken. In an instant, the light shot away from where they were standing and through the closed basement door, disappearing immediately. A horrific crash followed, as though something heavy had bashed its descent down the stairs. Marinette bolted after Adrien, wrenched open the door, flipped on the lights, and barreled down the stairs.

She didn’t bother with the basement itself and immediately crashed against the locked door. She threw back the two bolts, twisted the handle sharply, and pulled with all her strength. Shockingly, the door wasn’t stuck at all and flew open under the force of her pull. The knob slipped from her hand and she spilled across the concrete. The flesh of her palms and elbows chafed away, prying a hiss of pain from her lips. 

Light spilled from within the small room. Cautiously, Marinette eased back to her feet. She tried not to touch the walls, but didn’t care that the concrete floor soaked up her blood. She peeked into the room, holding her breath, skin crawling with the thought of what she might see. 

For a moment, she saw it as it usually was—empty save for the simple toilet, unfinished walls, ceiling twisted with pipes, bare concrete floor.

Then, she blinked and she was there. She must have been there—when all the horrors and terrible things happened, when Adrien had died.

The room still looked the same, but things had been added. The steamer trunk was there, almost in the middle of the room, though closed and yet unlocked. A bare mattress, stained and stinking even from where Marinette stood in the threshold, was pushed against the wall. She stared, horrified, taking in the gruesome smears of blood on the mattress’s surface. 

She blinked and swallowed. Her mouth was as dry as a desert and her skin felt icy. 

There he was—Adrien—maybe as he was just before he died, then again, maybe he had always looked like that. He looked faintly as he had in her nightmare, face turned slightly away, darkness showing on the edges of his skin. Blood dripped darkly from the corner of his lips, crept down the line of his throat, soaked into the material of his shirt. He cradled his arm to himself, his wrist jutting away at an awkward angle, broken.

“Oh, god, Adrien,” she breathed out.

She wanted to go to him, help him somehow, tear him out of his waking nightmare, and lay his spirit to rest. She started to move towards him.

His head snapped around, eyes searing into her like green flames. The damage was too much to take in all the once, leaving only impression of agony and brutality. His eye was swollen almost shut, blackened. His lips were cracked, chapped, and split at the corners. A necklace of bruises framed his throat. His shirt hung open, baring the hollow of his sternum and the lines of his ribs. There were more bruises, welts, gashes, scrapes. Starving, beaten, dead—he had the visage of a skeleton. 

The blood from Marinette’s torn elbows and hands splattered on the concrete. 

Something surged, swelled, cracked, breathed—escaped.

The steamer trunk flew open with a crash.

The door to the room slammed in Marinette’s face and lights exploded behind her eyes. She fell backwards, stumbling, and her head struck the concrete floor. She stared upwards, crooked where she lay, and caught only the impression of a man’s body in a dark suit. She glimpsed Adrien’s face again, the terror in his eyes as his mouth opened into a scream. Then, everything went black.

X X X

(1) I chose the name ‘Adele’ for Adrien’s mother because of the painting ‘Portrait of Adele Bloch-Bauer I’ by Gustave Klimt. The painting of Mrs. Agreste seen in Miraculous Ladybug is based on this portrait, also known as ‘The Woman in Gold.’ Since I’m just not going to be calling her ‘Mrs. Agreste’ for the course of my story, this seems like a good name within the realm of reasoning.

(2) Post-mortem photography was very popular in Britain and America until the 1940s. Here’s a fun link with more info: http://theforlornpath.blogspot.com/2012/01/post-mortem-photography.html

Questions, comments, concerns?


	9. The Key: Part I

Fun moment of pure stupidity: I forgot all about Sabrina’s father being Rogercop… So, make that Sabrina’s parents names are Diana and Roger… *achoo*

X X X

Marinette stirred to an all-encompassing full-body chill. It penetrated her mind, seeping inside and numbing everything except the blinding spot of pain on the back of her head and the sear along her arms. Those points throbbed in time with her heartbeat. She groaned and shifted, trying to escape the cold. 

“Ma chérie,” Sabine said with concern. “Are you alright? What happened?”

Marinette knew better than to sit up right away, but Sabine kept a steady pressure on her daughter’s shoulder regardless. “I’m okay, Mama,” she muttered and lifted a hand to her head. 

Sabine tutted and stopped her. “Don’t. You’re bleeding.”

Blearily, Marinette took in her surroundings. She was still in the basement, lying on her back exactly where she remembered falling. The door to the room where Adrien’s spirit had been was closed and bolted. Everything was quiet. 

“Are you ready to sit up?” Sabine asked.

Marinette nodded.

“Slowly, slowly,” Sabine crooned. She supported Marinette’s back as she eased into a sitting position.

Marinette’s head throbbed, but she had a feeling she hadn’t done any lasting damage to herself. Her arms were streaked with blood, but the scrapes were already clotting and the blood dried at the edges. 

“Would you like me to get Diana to call an ambulance? Should I drive you to the hospital?” Sabine asked with concern.

“No, Mama,” Marinette protested. “I’m fine. I only hurt my pride and banged myself up a little bit.”

“What happened?”

“I slipped,” Marinette lied. “I think the floor is a little uneven. My feet just went out from under me.” She examined her arms and turned her head slowly, seeing if her vision blurred or spun. “I’m okay. Just help me up.”

Sabine put her hands under Marinette’s armpits, stood behind her, and heaved her daughter to her feet. Marinette didn’t feel lightheaded but she let Sabine support her anyway. Together, they made their way into the kitchen. Marinette leaned heavily into the rim of the sink, turned on the water, and thrust both arms beneath the flow. She hissed as the blood was washed away. The wounds were superficial, but bled a ridiculous amount. 

Sabine left for a moment and returned with a box of Band-Aids. “Are you alright, ma chérie?”

Marinette ripped off a paper towel and patted her injuries dry. The bleeding had mostly stopped and she held her arms out for Sabine to plaster bandages over. The cold-induced welt on Marinette’s palm seemed like nothing now that she had scrapes from her hands to her elbows. She winced as Sabine smoothed a bandage over a particularly wide injury. 

“You need to be more careful, ma chérie,” Sabine murmured. She stroked Marinette’s undamaged knuckles. “I’m worried about you.”

“I’m trying to be, Mama,” Marinette promised, “but I’ve always been a disaster magnet. Remember when Dad taught me to ride my bike?”

A watery smile curved the edges of Sabine’s lips. “Of course,” she murmured. “I couldn’t keep Band-Aids in the house for the whole week.”

“I’m alright,” Marinette assured her. “And I’ll be more careful. This house needs a lot of repairs.”

Sabine nodded. “I see that the basement stairs are on their last legs.”

“We’ll need a professional to replace them,” Marinette said.

“Soon,” Sabine insisted. 

Marinette nodded. 

With a soft sigh, Sabine stepped away from Marinette. She opened the fridge and stared into it briefly before choosing a bottle of juice to drink. As she closed the door, Marinette’s heart rose into her throat, but Adrien was not standing behind the door. They were alone in the kitchen. 

…

After her tumble in the basement, Marinette went upstairs to wash up. She stared blankly at the filthy water pouring from the tap, waiting for it to clear out of habit. She was used to the water, though she still wondered why it was so dirty at first. If the pipes were dirty, certainly they would have cleared by now. She and Sabine had been living here for almost two weeks. It probably had something to do with the water heater or maybe one of the pipes was broken somewhere, letting in new dirt each time. Either way, it needed to be fixed by a professional. 

Marinette chocked up a mental list of things that couldn’t be fixed by her—the basement steps, the filthy water pouring from the taps, moving the heavy roll-top desk that was pushed against the bathroom door in the master bedroom. 

With a sigh, she stared at the clear water. She had planned to wash up and go to bed, but the bandages on her elbows and hands wouldn’t take kindly to being soaked. Using the tips of her fingers, she washed her face, despairing again over the lack of mirror. The hanger was still there. All she had to do was put one up. She brushed her teeth and shut off the water, listening to the gurgle of the pipes as it drained.

Tikki was waiting in the hallway, batting at a jingling toy ball. She stopped and looked up at Marinette, meowing loudly in the quiet.

Marinette toed off her shoe and pet the cat with her wiggling toes. Tikki rolled onto her back, delighting in the attention. After a few minutes, Marinette slipped her shoe back on and headed to her bedroom. Though it had already been dark, the hours crept up on Marinette and night was fully upon her. She sank down on the bed and Tikki leapt up beside her, purring like a freight engine. Marinette smiled as she scratched her, thinking.

She should probably go to school tomorrow. Even though she wasn’t keen on hearing all the stories and rumors that had probably flocked about her by now, it wasn’t as though she could hide forever. Marinette had never really been the type to hide and she knew schooling was important. Her father would have wanted her to face her fears and face her peers.

Marinette crossed to the window and eased it open. The night was cool and deep. It had begun to rain, a soft summer storm that pattered on the balcony and against the glass. It smelled wonderful, of growing things and peace. Marinette rested her cheek on the window frame, staring out at the darkness. In the moonlight, she could make out two of the fountains, the empty pool, the shed, and the gazebo. Everything was silvery in the rain.

Marinette returned to her bed and flopped down beside Tikki. The cat immediately jumped on top of her chest and lay down, purring noisily. Marinette scratched behind her ears, lost in the two soft sounds of purring and rain drops pattering. Though she hadn’t thought she would be able to sleep, she dozed off quite swiftly. 

…

Tikki hunkered atop Marinette’s slumbering form, both eyes focused on the partially opened bedroom door. Though purring, every fiber of the cat’s body was alert and attentive. She focused on the little crack of open door that allowed her to see into the hallway. The shape of the black cat’s body was visible where it crouched, just beyond easy view, tail swishing. After a while, Tikki watched the black cat rise and then pad downstairs. Content that her human was safe, Tikki allowed herself to sleep as well.

…

It was still raining the next morning. The weather encouraged Marinette to stay in bed and feel sorry for herself, but she forced her way out of bed. Though she had no appetite, she ate a bowl of cereal, found the umbrella leaning in the closet, and headed out into the dreary morning. 

When she reached the bus stop, Mylène was already there. Wearing a plastic rain poncho and carrying an umbrella, Mylène smiled uneasily at Marinette. She didn’t offer any greeting or small talk besides that one nervous curving of her lips. All at once, Marinette felt alienated in an archaic time period where insanity was not only frightening but contagious. Marinette couldn’t grudge Mylène the fear—she understood how it must have looked to have a neighbor who was calling the police in the middle of the night, a neighbor who lived in a house where such unspeakable atrocities had occurred, a neighbor who was probably wild with something that couldn’t really be understood. Marinette hadn’t told anyone about her father’s death so she was sure it just looked all the stranger. She didn’t bother to try to start a conversation with Mylène. She just let it go.

Rain pattered on the surface of Marinette’s big umbrella. 

Sabrina approached a few minutes later, her red hair like a beacon in the gloom. She carried a brightly-patterned umbrella and the colors played eerily over her features. She paused between Mylène and Marinette. Her eyes searched first Mylène’s face and then Marinette’s, but she still didn’t say anything. Marinette couldn’t begrudge Sabrina either, especially considering that Chloé was her grandmother. To Sabrina, it probably seemed worse for Marinette to live in that house when Chloé was intimately connected to what had happened. Besides that, a deteriorating illness like dementia was difficult for any family to bear. At least Sabrina had always ignored Marinette and her silence stung less than Mylène’s. 

The three stood in silence together, the only sound was the rain and the occasional calling of birds in the forest. 

Finally, the bus cut through the woods and hissed to a stop in front of them. Sabrina marched to her place at the back of the bus. Mylène sat down, shrugged off her backpack, and set it on the seat beside her—as though her silence wasn’t enough of a clue that she didn’t want anything to do with Marinette.

Marinette took a seat by herself at the midpoint of the bus, right beside the Emergency Exit. She tucked her umbrella alongside herself, feeling the wet seep through her jeans wherever it touched her. 

“That’s her?” someone whispered. “The French girl?”

“I heard she went crazy—called the cops and everything.”

“Doesn’t she know about that house?”

“Maybe she saw a ghost and wigged.”

“I though French people liked that macabre stuff, what with all of Paris being built on a graveyard.”

“Maybe she moved there on purpose.”

“Maybe it gets her hot.”

Tittering laughter pricked at Marinette like a million pins. Maybe she should have stayed home another day. Maybe she should have stayed in France. Maybe she should never have asked her father to—

“Damn, they are so annoying, aren’t they?” came a cheerful voice that jolted Marinette from her thoughts. A weight flopped carelessly beside her on the seat. 

Marinette snapped her head around sharply. 

Alya grinned at her. “Mind if I sit here?”

“Dude,” Nino said in greeting and took a seat behind them. He rested his arms on the back of the seat and leaned closer. Marinette could hear his pounding music blaring from the headphones around his neck.

“You’d think they’d never heard a good ghost story before,” Alya continued without waiting for Marinette’s answer. “Hello, don’t they realize they live on top of one? We’ve all grown up hearing it so I don’t know why everyone is so surprised if something actually happened.” 

Nino prodded her in the back of the head.

Alya snapped her neck around, whipping tiny damp droplets from the ends of her hair. Marinette realized she didn’t have a poncho or an umbrella. Instead, her hoodie and hat were dusted with wetness. Her glasses were splattered with dewdrops, but she took them off and dried them on a portion of her shirt busily. “Right, right—not saying anything did, Marinette,” she hastened to add. “If you did or didn’t see a ghost, you’ll see no judgment here. I’m so open-minded that my brain might fall out.”

Nino poked her again, his lips curved with a fond smile.

“Right, right, I’ll shut up now. Do you want me to move?” Alya asked Marinette.

Despite herself, Marinette couldn’t help but smile. Alya was so energetic and fun that it was hard to stay in such a foul mood. Behind her, Nino radiated a sort of calm acceptance. Marinette didn’t think there was anything that would rattle these two. She probably could have told them that she had superpowers and they would have accepted it as easily as if she told them she wanted a puppy or was allergic to peanuts.

Marinette chuckled. “No, no. Stay, please.”

Alya beamed. 

It was a blessing to have someone to talk with whose voice easily drowned out the whispers. 

“I know I asked you about doing a video for my blog, but I’ll understand if you don’t want anymore attention on you for a while,” Alya said after some pleasantries about school and the weather were out of the way. 

Marinette took a deep breath and asked, “Have the rumors been… bad?”

Alya shrugged. “It’s hard to say,” she admitted. “I take them with a grain of salt, but some people will believe anything.”

“What are they saying?” Marinette asked.

“Depends on who you talk to,” Nino put in. “Some dudes are out of control with the rumor mill. Some people are just spreading what they’ve been told by others, but it’s still out of hand. Ever play that game—Telephone? Pretty soon we’re going to hear that you ran down the street naked in a tutu and someone else entirely called the cops.”

A smile that was part-horror, part-hilarity graced Marinette’s face at the image. “I thought I left that memory behind when I moved across continents.”

Nino’s eyes widened and then his face cracked into a goofy contagious smile. “No? That was you?”

Marinette giggled. It felt so good to laugh, even at something so silly. 

After a moment, they sobered.

“Do you want to know?” Alya asked.

“It might help,” Marinette admitted, “if I know what to expect.”

“No one has quite gotten to the naked tutu point of ridiculousness,” Alya said, “but I don’t think it’s too far off. It’ll blow over soon.”

“They’ll find something else to titter about,” Nino put in.

“Anyway, it’s mostly been elaborations of what happened before the police were called. I’ve heard,” here Alya began to tick off on her fingers, “that you saw a ghost, that the ghost tried to kill you, that someone broke into your house for real, that you just freaked out, and that you had a vivid night terror.” 

Nino rested his chin on the seatback. “Any of those true?”

“The last one,” Marinette admitted. 

“Sucks,” Nino remarked. 

“I hate nightmares,” Alya said. “I can’t imagine having one so scary that you call the cops for real.”

Marinette stared at her hands in her lap, able to see the edge of the searing cold welt on her palm where she had gripped the knob. “It was pretty awful, but it just feels embarrassing now.”

Nino dropped a hand to Marinette’s shoulder. “Don’t sweat it. At the time, I’m sure it felt right. Besides, the police were just doing their job. I’m sure they’d rather take one hundred false alarms than one call if someone had really broken in and killed you.”

The frankness in his voice startled Marinette. She hadn’t even thought to look at it that way. 

“It’s true,” Alya added. “When I was younger, I was babysitting for the first time at a stranger’s house in the middle of town. It was late. I had the kids in bed already and I was just watching TV. I was really tired and I started to doze off when all of the sudden, I heard the window break. I didn’t even think about it. I bolted upstairs, locked myself in the kid’s bedroom, and called the police.”

Marinette stared at Alya, her eyes wide.

Alya twisted a lock of hair around her finger sheepishly. “As it turns out, a couple teenagers were playing basketball and the ball really got away from them. That’s what broke the window. It was a whole big embarrassing deal at the time, but when it was all over—the parents came home early from their date and everything—they told me that they were glad I called the police.”

“The parents said that they were happy I had called, even though it was just a false alarm. They knew I wouldn’t hesitate to call if something truly did happen. Everyone was very nice about it, especially the police. I’m sure they felt the same way when you called them, Marinette,” Alya finished.

“Better safe than sorry,” Nino told them both.

“I hadn’t thought of it that way,” Marinette murmured. For a moment, she wondered if what had happened to Adrien in that house could have been avoided by a well-placed phone call, even if it was just a false alarm as well. She liked to think that everything could be stopped, changed, prevented if someone happened to do the right thing at the right time. “Thank you both.”

“No problem,” Nino said.

Alya continued. “You said that the night terror was what really happened, well, you’ll never believe who’s been continuously telling people that little tidbit.”

It took Marinette a moment to realize that Alya was pleased rather than irritated. “Who?”

“Sabrina.”

“Sabrina?” Marinette repeated. She was puzzled as to why Sabrina—who had never seemed to like her and who seemed disgusted that she could live in the Agreste Mansion—would bother to stand up for her. Marinette had told Diana the partial-truth of what had happened, but she hadn’t expected Sabrina to care enough to stand by the real story. “Why would she do that?”

“Who knows,” Alya said with a shrug.

“Sabrina is a good person,” Nino put in. “She’s had it rough with her grandmother moving in with them, the illness and all. Then, her father died.”

Marinette’s heart stopped. “Her father died?”

Nino nodded slowly. “It was just so random, so senseless…”

Alya lowered her eyes, sadness lining her cheerful face. “Lieutenant Roger was a policeman. It was lunchtime. He stopped at the Golden Arches for lunch, happened to talk to a kid who was short on money, and he bought lunch for the kid too. He left after that—after one act of kindness—and got into his patrol car. Bang.” She snapped her fingers and then surreptitiously dried her eyes. “He was gunned down in an unprovoked attack.” (1)

Marinette’s breath caught and her throat clogged with emotion. Tears welled in her eyes and she didn’t bother to fight them back. Good people died every day for one reason or another and sometimes for no reason at all. Death was senseless and sudden in all cases, wasn’t it? 

Sabrina’s father, a kind police officer. 

Marinette’s father, a strong baker. 

Adrien Agreste, a young man who looked no more than sixteen or seventeen. 

The dark haired woman, whoever she was.

Nino rummaged through is backpack and produced a packet of tissues. Alya took one for herself and Marinette accepted another. Together, they dried their faces. Marinette couldn’t help but glance towards the back of the bus where Sabrina was seated, chatting amicably with a friend. 

“Anyway,” Alya said finally. “That’s enough of talk like that. I’m glad you’re back, Marinette.”

“Alya, Nino,” Marinette said softly.

They both stared at her.

“Thank you.”

…

Sabine was waiting when Marinette returned home from school and the entire house smelled of freshly-baked cookies. Marinette plucked one from the plate even before she put aside the wet umbrella and took off her sodden shoes. Sabine took her backpack and they walked together to the kitchen. 

“How was school, ma chérie?” Sabine asked.

“Better than expected,” Marinette told her. “I think I actually made some real friends.”

Sabine smiled with relief. “And your scrapes?”

“They’re just scrapes,” Marinette said. “I’m fine.”

Sabine let out a breath that she must have been holding since Marinette left that morning. She looked exhausted.

“Is everything alright?” Marinette asked her mother.

“Fine, fine,” Sabine said. “I’ve just been so worried about you and I think it’s making me lose my mind.”

Marinette patted her hand. “Sorry to worry you. Do you need any help?”

“It’s the strangest thing,” Sabine murmured, “but nothing seems to be where I put it. I must be more tired and stressed than I thought. Can you help me find my French-to-English dictionary? I swear I left it here in the kitchen, next to the cutting board since I was trying to follow this recipe, but I can’t find it anywhere.”

Marinette took a cursory look around, but didn’t see it. “Are you sure you didn’t take it somewhere with you?”

Sabine sighed. “Honestly, no. I’ll look upstairs again and you see if the gremlins that live under the stairs took it.”

Marinette smiled, took another cookie, and nodded. 

Sabine walked away.

Marinette prowled through the kitchen. It was warm and homey with the preparations for dinner spread across the countertop. The English cookbook was propped on the oven mitts and held open with a wooden spoon. Sabine had diced carrots, onions, and celery on the wooden board, leaving the knife out. A pot of stew bubbled merrily away on the stove. Potatoes waited to be peeled and cut in the sink. Cookies were spread on cooling sheets in the remaining space. 

Marinette looked on the kitchen table for the translating dictionary and then under it, because Tikki sometimes got up to mischief. She opened a few cabinets, just in case Sabine had absently put it away on accident. The dictionary was nowhere to be found. It was probably in another room somewhere.

Tikki bounded into the room and looked up at the countertops where all the food was spread like a perfect mess for her to get into.

“Don’t even think about it,” Marinette chided.

Tikki’s head swiveled around and the fur on the back of her neck rose. She hissed, backing up into Marinette’s shins. 

Marinette looked up quickly, expecting to see Adrien or the dark haired woman advancing on her. The kitchen was empty of ephemeral figures. However, the dictionary lay innocently on the kitchen table where Marinette was certain she had checked. There it was.

Her skin crawled with awareness. 

“Adrien?” she whispered. 

With a bang, all the drawers shot open. The contents sloshed over the side with the force and landed noisily on the floor. 

Tikki puffed up, yowling, but didn’t leave Marinette’s side.

Next, all the cabinets crashed open. The pots, pans, plates, bowls, and glasses rattled warningly, like a rattlesnake before it struck. They vibrated so ferociously that Marinette worried everything was going to fall out. 

The light over the oven flickered. The stew bubbled and spat.

Then, as suddenly as it had all started, it ceased.

Sabine came back into the kitchen. “Did you find it, ma chérie?” She froze, looking at the mess and all the open drawers and cabinets. “Did you do all this looking for it?”

Marinette wanted to nod, to assure her mother that she was the cause of the mess and the oddities, but she wasn’t quick enough. Being alone in the house all day, Sabine already knew something strange was happening.

“You see it too, right, ma chérie?” Sabine asked. “All the things that are open? All the things on the floor? You didn’t touch any of them, did you?”

Marinette shook her head. 

“And the dictionary?”

Marinette gestured towards the kitchen table where the book had been lying only a moment before, but it was gone now. 

“Ma chérie,” Sabine murmured, “something happened in this house, didn’t it? That’s why it was so cheap, wasn’t it?”

Marinette nodded. 

“Do you know what happened?”

She shook her head. 

Sabine took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She put her hand to a pair of open cabinets and closed them. “We can’t leave,” she told Marinette. “We can’t afford to. Whatever this is, we have to put it to rest. There’s no other choice.”

“I’ve been trying,” Marinette confessed. 

Sabine regarded her. “You’ve always been a sensitive girl, ma chérie. It comes from your father’s side of the family.”

Marinette swallowed back her thoughts of Tom and her wishes that he was here. 

Sabine closed a few more cabinets, stirred the stew, and closed the rest. Marinette circled the island and began picking up the things that had spilled from the drawers when they were wrest open. Amidst the clutter, she found a single brass key. It was long with an ornate handle and a few simple teeth. It felt icy against her palm and she almost dropped it

“Ma chérie?” Sabine asked. 

“It’s a key,” Marinette said and showed it to her mother.

“Interesting,” Sabine remarked as she turned the key over in her hand. If she felt the bitter cold of the metal, she didn’t show it. “It looks old. Maybe it goes to something in the house.”

Marinette’s heart skipped a beat. 

The steamer trunk in the master bedroom—she had seen it in the basement with Adrien’s spirit in that moment before she blacked out and Adrien had appeared to her when she tried to open it. There was something in that trunk that was paramount to what had happened in this house. Maybe this was what she needed to lay the spirits of Adrien Agreste and the dark haired woman to rest.

X X X

(1) I based the death of Sabrina’s father, Roger, on the death of Officer Jeremy Henwood, SDPD. Here’s a video about what happened to him, but do be prepared to cry your face off: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LTaEbJso_uU

Questions, comments, concerns?


	10. The Key: Part II

Apparently, I’m becoming addicted to a deadline. For the past three weeks, I have written out my whole chapter on the day I am due to post it. I don’t know what my problem is. I think my days are just so full and I (almost) always have Monday afternoons off. It just lets me get the chapter done. Oh well, at least it’s getting done.

Currently, I’m struggling with the weirdest desire to just write pure unadulterated smut… (Not for this story, but in general.)

X X X

“Are you going to be okay, Mama?” Marinette asked, still holding the icy key in her hand, “If I leave you alone?”

Sabine nodded as she stirred the stew. “This is nothing compared to when I first moved to Paris with your father, knowing all those bodies were right under my feet.” She shivered dramatically, lifted the spoon to her lips, and tasted the stew. After a moment of thought, she picked up the salt grinder and added some fresh sea salt and a touch of pepper.

“It does make me sad though,” Sabine remarked so softly that Marinette barely heard her, “to think that someone died so tragically that they’re still not at peace. If there’s something we can do to help, we should do it.”

Marinette stared at her mother, moved almost to tears by Sabine’s kindness and strength even in the face of so much adversity. Others might have denied everything, hidden away in fear, or bolted from this house regardless of the cost, but Sabine did not. Sabine was a tower standing tall and immovable, a lighthouse at the edge of the deep endless ocean. 

Marinette was grateful to possess even half of her mother’s courage. Choking back tears, Marinette crossed the kitchen and hugged her mother tightly. For the first time, Marinette realized that she was as tall as her mother. Life was so fragile, so fleeting. People could die for no reason at all—a policeman gunned down, a father in a car accident, a young boy whose spirit still lingered. Marinette squeezed Sabine tightly, memorizing the scent of her perfume and hair.

“Ma chérie?” Sabine asked curiously. Then, without another word, she embraced Marinette fiercely. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Mama,” Marinette whispered.

Breaking away from her mother’s warm arms, she pretended not to see the tears that glittered in Sabine’s eyes. Marinette swallowed the lump in her throat and sniffled. She headed upstairs to the master bedroom with the icy key clutched in her hand. Her footsteps sounded hollow on the floorboards. 

Nothing—no one—came to stop her progress. 

She pushed open the door, snaked between the piles of boxes, and knelt in front of the steamer trunk. It looked the same as always, antique and lovely though something about it raised goose bumps on Marinette’s arms. She forced her hands not to shake as she fit the key into the lock and turned it.

It wouldn’t budge.

Puzzled, Marinette jiggled the key. She turned it left and right, wriggled some more, and then withdrew the key from the lock. Upon closer examination, she realized that the key fit into the lock but did not match it. In fact, the key only fit because it was entirely too small. The trunk had a stunning patina on the brass lock and the key was aged as well, but not to the same degree. 

Marinette stepped away from the trunk, disappointed and a little relieved that she hadn’t been able to open it. She was still a concerned that she would find Adrien’s body inside, but she might also find the secret to laying the lingering spirits to rest. She cast her gaze around the master bedroom, wondering what the key could go to and hoping against hope that she could figure it out blindly. Had she come across anything else that was locked in this house?

Her gaze fell on the roll-top desk. She knew that they could be locked, but it was facing the wrong way with its drawers pushed against the bathroom door. Marinette slipped the key into her pocket, nudged a stack of boxes aside, and wrenched at the desk. It scraped loudly against the hardwood floor. Panting, Marinette leaned on it. She had managed to move it only a few inches, but it was unwieldy and absurdly heavy. Wedging herself between the desk and the bathroom door, she managed some leverage and heaved it a few more inches.

Marinette heaved again. The desk was cocked at a forty-five degree angle from the door, giving her just enough space to stand between them and maybe open a few drawers, but not enough to open the bathroom door. It would have to do though because she couldn’t push it any farther. The roll-top was lowered and locked, as were each of the drawers. Marinette fit the key into the roll-top and turned it, delighting in the little sound as the tumblers moved aside. She grasped the roll-top handles and pushed it open. 

A puff of dust exploded in her face as a cascade of loose papers spilled out and landed at her feet. 

Coughing, Marinette backed away from the desk and wiped her face with her hands. 

“What are you doing?” The shrill familiar voice shot down Marinette’s spine like a splash of frigid water. 

Marinette whirled around to face the dark haired woman.

Without the shock of thinking there was a burglar in her house in the middle of the night, Marinette took a moment to observe the dark haired woman up close. The sunlight fell on her in strange translucent shadows, but she somehow seemed more solid than Adrien. She wore a black tailored pantsuit with a blood-red ruffled blouse beneath. Her wire-rimmed glasses didn’t catch the light the way they should have, giving Marinette a full view of the woman’s dark abyssal eyes. Her nails and lips were painted blood-red and a smattering of makeup the color of bruises ringed her eyes. 

Though she was young and pretty, there was gauntness to her face as though she hadn’t been eating or sleeping well. Stress marked her features, even in death. Her dark hair was swept into a bun at the back of her head, a few strands swept across her forehead stylishly. There, on the left side of her head just above her ear, Marinette noticed that her hair was smeared with redness. Looking closer, Marinette realized it was blood. 

The wound was jagged and deep. Though it no longer bled, it looked deep and painful enough to have been the cause of the dark haired woman’s death. As a spirit, only the splash of color remained against her skull almost like a dye. Before Marinette could look any closer or try to guess what had happened to the woman, she passed through the desk and forced Marinette up against the bathroom door. Cold radiated from her body.

“What do you think you’re doing?” the woman shrieked. “How dare you go through Mr. Agreste’s things!”

Marinette tried to escape the press of the woman’s frigid presence. Already, her hands and feet felt numb. Fumbling, she grasped the bathroom doorknob. It rattled in her hand and turned, but didn’t open more than a centimeter since the desk was blocking it. 

The woman froze. For the first time, she appeared to take in her surroundings. Her deep dark eyes cast around the disarrayed room. Boxes were stacked everywhere, furniture was pushed where it didn’t belong, the steamer trunk crouched at the foot of the bed, the trio of paintings were tucked behind the dresser. Surely it looked nothing like it had when the dark haired woman was alive. 

Visibly jarred by the sight, the woman wavered backwards a step. She passed harmlessly through the desk but jolted as though she had bumped it. She looked down at the desk, at her hips where they vanished in a foggy line, at her hands, and then at Marinette. 

Marinette still hung on the bathroom doorknob, barely feeling the metal in her cold shaking hand. 

“That’s…” the woman whispered. She reeled as though suddenly dizzy and lifted a hand to her head where the wound was. There wasn’t any blood on her fingers, but Marinette had a feeling that the woman had felt the wound as though it had just happened. Her pale face twisted with pain and fear. “No!” she shrieked. “Don’t! Don’t go in there!”

Marinette watched as the woman’s stately outrage dissolved.

“Don’t look at me! Don’t look!” the dark haired woman wailed. “Don’t touch!” She whirled around, facing the doorway to the master bedroom, and hissed, “Don’t touch me. How dare you! How dare you—!”  
Marinette couldn’t see anyone or anything standing in the threshold, but her skin crawled regardless. 

Something was there.

“What you did— How dare you— Why would you— Why did you—” the woman wailed. Her voice rose in pitch with each half-formed question. Then, with the same deadly cold that seeped from every pore of her spirit, she finally formed a whole question that she directed at the doorway. “How could you?” Her voice cracked like ice breaking over a vast lake, sudden and sharp. “How could you?”

The woman backed away as something or someone approached her. She lifted her hands, warding off her invisible assailant. Abruptly, something struck the dark haired woman’s spirit. She doubled over with a horrible cry, clutching her face and head with both hands. She crumbled to her knees, ragged sounds escaping her lips.

Then, she simply faded. 

Marinette’s skin crawled with awareness. She heard heavy footsteps. They were nearby, maybe just on the other side of the desk, but they didn’t come closer. Like the rhythmic banging of a drum, the footsteps turned and headed away. The door to the master bedroom swung closed with a bang.

Silence reigned, broken only by Marinette’s heavy breathing. 

Marinette had thought—no, she had known—that someone had died in this house. But it was one thing to know that on an intellectual level and another thing entirely to see someone’s final moments acted out right in front of her. She had no doubt that the dark haired woman had been struck in the head and subsequently died right in this room, right here, right in front of her.

Her feet were cold, her knees trembled, and her thighs felt weak. The air conditioner was running and Marinette could feel a draft of cool air. It wasn’t even close to the frigid temperature that rolled off the dark haired woman’s body and Marinette’s hands and feet tingled as they warmed. She didn’t realize that she had slowly slumped down until she felt her arm begin to go numb. She was still clutching the bathroom doorknob above her head, all the blood draining out of it. Slowly, she uncurled her fingers and dropped her hand into her lap.

That woman… she had died right here.

Shuddering, Marinette looked down at the papers scattered all around her. They had fallen out of the desk when she opened the roll-top. Fantastically dusty and yellowed with age, Marinette picked up a ream of paperwork and flipped through it absently. They looked like invoices for a business, orders for fabric and labor, interspersed with designs and measurements. She recalled the newspaper headline she had read before having a panic attack—Son of Fashion Mogul Murdered. It felt like so long ago, but it hadn’t even been a month.

Shaking herself, Marinette climbed to her feet. She picked up all the scattered papers, shuffled them together, and set them down on the desk. She didn’t feel like going through the desk’s contents any longer. She was shocked to her core, numbed by what she had seen. She lowered the roll-top and removed the key but left it unlocked. 

She tried not to look at the place where the dark haired woman had crumpled and vanished.

She tried not to look where the three portraits were leaned up. 

She tried not to look at the steamer trunk.

The key no longer felt icy-cold in her hand. She carried the key into her bedroom and stopped short in the threshold, heart in her throat. Adrien stood in front of her dresser, gazing at something on the surface. Marinette approached slowly and cautiously, wondering what he was looking at. Adele’s pink flowered broach, Marinette realized. She had found it in an ornate box amidst the clothing in the very first box she had opened and seen it in the paintings of Adele. 

“Adrien?” Marinette ventured.

He turned slowly to face her, as though it was painful to tear his eyes from the broach. “Where did you find that?”

“In a box of clothes in the master bedroom,” she said.

“I… I haven’t seen it in a long time,” he murmured. He reached to touch it and Marinette caught her breath. Could he touch it? He had touched her when she had a panic attack, using his cold hand to press against the back of her neck and calm her. At the last moment, he hesitated and lowered his hand back to his side. “It was my mother’s.”

“Adele?” Marinette asked.

Adrien regarded her. “You know her name?”

Marinette nodded. “I read it on the back of a photograph.”

Something sparked in Adrien’s green eyes. “A photograph?”

“Would you… like to see it?”

“Please.”

Marinette turned back towards the master bedroom, beckoning to Adrien to follow her.

“Wait,” he said.

Marinette paused at the threshold and turned back to face him.

He lingered at the edge of her bedroom door, fingers curled like slender white twigs around the frame. “I can’t.”

“Can’t what?” she asked. 

“I can’t leave this room.”

Marinette stared at him, uncomprehending. “What do you mean? I’ve seen you in the kitchen and the basement.”

Adrien couldn’t be any paler, but the structure of his body faded. Already translucent, he now looked as if a strong wind could scatter him to pieces. “T-the basement…?”

Marinette nodded. “Remember?”

Adrien backed up, shaking his head from side to side. “No,” he whispered. “I… I’m already dead. Isn’t it over? Why isn’t it over?”

Marinette hastened to his side and closed the door at her back. She wanted to touch him, but she didn’t know how he would react or even if she could. “Adrien,” she said urgently.

He looked up into her face, eyes glistening with tears. “Why am I trapped here? I’ve suffered enough, haven’t I?” he whispered. “Why am I still being punished? Do I… do I deserve it?”

“No, no,” Marinette said gently. “Adrien, look at me.”

His form stabilized. He looked almost solid so that Marinette could only see the faintest outlines of the dresser behind him. 

All at once, she had no idea what to say. She didn’t know what had happened to him and, though her instinct was to insist he didn’t deserve whatever had happened to him, she didn’t know for certain. She hadn’t seen who killed the dark haired woman. She couldn’t know why there were bars on the window or why there was a small prison in the basement. She didn’t know what lay within the steamer trunk. 

Instead, she changed the subject. “Would you sit and talk with me?”

Adrien looked at her, his eyes flickering with mistrust. “About what?”

“Anything,” Marinette said and fumbled for a topic. “What was school like when you were alive?”

“I never went to school. I wasn’t allowed to.”

Marinette’s eyes widened. “W-why not?”

Adrien didn’t answer. His form wavered like smoke and he turned from her. He crossed the room without a sound, not even footsteps, and looked out the window. “The bars are gone,” he said with faint awe in his voice.

“I took them down,” Marinette told him. She almost asked why they were there, but choked the question back. She didn’t want to scare Adrien away.

“I can go outside,” he whispered and moved towards the balcony doors. He hesitated there, hand poised without touching anything. Then, he turned the knob and pulled the door open. He stepped onto the balcony and the sunlight fell across him like a caress. 

If Marinette hadn’t been staring right at him, she wouldn’t have seen the change. 

Adrien breathed deeply and it was like the fresh air brought him to life, filled the empty hollows of his deceased spirit, and solidified him. All at once, it was like he was really standing there. He rested his hands on the railing and leaned there, breathing the warm afternoon air. Marinette dropped the key on her dresser and went to stand beside him. She stood close, curious as to what she would feel from him. Slight warmth rolled from him in waves and she swore she could smell something sweet and clean. 

“Adrien,” she ventured.

“Thank you,” he said quickly. “Thank you for letting me out.”

A cold chill ran down her spine at those words. 

Behind her, a cat yowled.

Marinette whirled around to see the black cat sitting there, bright eyes focused on her. When she turned back towards the balcony, Adrien was gone.

X X X

“Love, like death, changes everything.” –Unknown 

Questions, comments, concerns?


	11. Thank You For Letting Me Out

**Important Note:** Thanks for all the words of support. I’m not going to be able to make any promises about being able to update on Mondays, but I’m going to try to make some time for writing. (Long story short, what happened to my dad is unexplainable. He turned into an uncontrollable rage-monster and an adult can not be forced to seek medical help when they don’t want it. I have moved from Arizona to New Jersey to be with my brother, get a new job, and finance a house of my own. It’s going to be busy.) Thanks for being so understanding during this rough time of my life.

The new part of this chapter takes place after the scene with Marinette and Alya. (It’s about 1,500-2,000 words.)

X X X

_“Thank you for letting me out.”_

The words played in a loop through Marinette’s head. 

What had she done? With all her desire to help, had she unleashed a demon, a murderer, a spirit that had been trapped for good reason? What if she had? She didn’t want to frighten her mother, but she worried that something might happen if Sabine didn’t know about Adrien. On the other hand, she didn’t want Sabine to worry about something neither of them could change. It was best to stay on her toes, listening and watching the house. 

_“Thank you for letting me out.”_

Adrien had said that to her just last night on the balcony as night was falling. The yowl of the cat still sent chills down her spine, even in memory. What had she done? She hadn’t seen Adrien or the dark haired woman since then, but the house hadn’t descended into ravaging poltergeist chaos either. Everything was quiet.

_“Thank you for letting me out.”_

However, Marinette couldn’t shake the feeling that something was incredibly wrong. Her skin prickled with goose bumps whenever she walked past the master bedroom or the basement door. She couldn’t decide if it was just because of her jangled nerves or if something was actually wrong. 

_“Thank you for letting me out.”_

She took a deep shaking breath and shouldered her backpack. Its familiar weight was heavy and comforting, an anchor in the storm. Life went on… until it didn’t. Her fingers were still decorated with a tiny ribbon of petal-pink nail polish. She thought of her father, of Adrien, of the dark haired woman crumpling into the floor.

“Have a good day at school, ma chérie,” Sabine said. She was at the kitchen table with all her English learning materials, smiling.

Marinette embraced her mother tightly, but didn’t say anything about what had happed last night. “Be careful, Mama,” she said.

The shadow of the beautiful mansion felt cold on Marinette’s back as she walked to the bus stop. She resisted the urge to look back, to scan every curtained window for a dark silhouette, to run screaming back to her mother, back to France where everything had been wonderful, back to a time before the accident. Shaking herself, Marinette tightened her grip around the strap of her backpack. 

_“Thank you for letting me out.”_

Sabrina was already at the bus stop when Marinette arrived. Her face was drawn and there were dark circles beneath her eyes as though she hadn’t slept well. Her lustrous red hair was scraped underneath a soft cloche hat with a simple fabric band. 

“Good morning, Sabrina,” Marinette said pleasantly.

Sabrina glanced at her, the peeking tips of her red hair standing out the exact color and shade of blood in the morning sunlight. “Morning.”

“Is everything alright? You look tired.”

Sabrina shrugged. “Nothing out of the ordinary.”

Marinette pressed her lips together, itching to ask Sabrina more questions, but she restrained herself. Besides a few demands about living in the house, Sabrina hadn’t spoken to Marinette very much. Now that she hadn’t outright rejected conversation, Marinette struggled to find something neutral to ask her.

“Just spit it out,” Sabrina remarked.

Jolted, Marinette looked at her in surprise. “What?”

“You’re over there dying to ask me something so just spit it out,” Sabrina repeated.

Marinette wet her lips, embarrassed and also relieved. “It’s just… you know what happened in that house, right?”

“I can’t believe you don’t,” Sabrina cut out.

Marinette forged ahead. “Will you tell me what happened there?”

“Why don’t you just look it up yourself? They must have had internet in France.”

“I can’t,” Marinette explained. She scraped at her remaining nail polish. 

Sabrina looked over at her, eyes like chips of ice behind the glaring lens of her glasses. 

“My father was killed in a terrible car accident,” Marinette confessed softly. “It was in the papers for months. Now, if I see the headlines, I… I have a panic attack.”

The hard line of Sabrina’s mouth softened just slightly. “My father was killed too. They wrote about him for months—all good things—but I was still relieved when it stopped.”

Marinette nodded. 

Through the dense forest, the yellow flash of the school bus appeared like a fish flickering through dark water.

Sabrina watched it and said without looking at Marinette, “If you can stand it, come to my house and talk to my grandmother. She knew the people who lived in that house.”

“Does she know what happened?”

“No one really does.”

The bus hissed to a stop, air brakes whooshing, and the doors swung open. Sabrina climbed the stairs and Marinette followed behind her. Though Sabrina went to her usual place at the rear of the bus, Marinette dropped into the second available seat and finally gave into the urge to look back at the house. The trees obscured most of the view, leaving her with tiny snippets of a window or siding. She didn’t see anything out of the ordinary, but she still felt it. 

_“Thank you for letting me out.”_

…

The school day passed by in an ordinary daze. Marinette’s heart thudded against her ribs, drowning out the words of the teachers and her classmates. At lunch time, she took her tray outside and sat down in the sunshine, tilting her face to the warmth. She wasn’t sure how long she sat there in silence, listening to the wind stirring the leaves and the birds twittering.

“Earth to Marinette,” came Alya’s voice. “Did you get beamed up?”

Startled, Marinette turned to look at her.

“Hi,” Alya said with a little finger wave. “May I join you?”

Marinette pushed her backpack off the bench and turned slightly to face Alya. “Sorry about that,” she said. “I was lost in thought.”

“It happens to the best of us,” Alya said. She picked up her sandwich and bit into it with obvious delight. “Gosh, I am starving.”

Marinette looked down at her untouched lunch. She had ordered a chicken Caesar salad from the cafeteria but didn’t feel like eating it anymore. Her mind whirled with worries. What if she had unleashed something she shouldn’t have? Some doors were closed for a reason and maybe some doors should stay closed.

“Marinette? Are you with me?” Alya asked.

Marinette looked up from the salad and stared at Alya.

Concerned, Alya tilted her head. “Is something wrong? Do you want to talk about it?”

Marinette moistened her lips and hesitated.

“Remember, this is a judgment-free-zone,” Alya remarked through another bite of sandwich. “I’m open-minded and anything you say will stay between us. I consider you my friend, Marinette.”

Marinette took a deep breath and let it out as slowly and quietly as she could. It was on the tip of her tongue to ask about the Agreste Mansion, but she choked the words back. Instead, she asked, “What do you do for fun around here?”

Alya glanced over at her, puzzled, but didn’t ask what was really on Marinette’s mind. “Well, for starters, there’s a lake pretty close to here so we do a lot of swimming in the summer. Do you like to swim, Marinette?”

“Actually, I can’t swim.”

“No biggie,” Alya remarked. “I’ll teach you. We also have a pretty rad bookshop and if you drive forty-five minutes, you get to town and can do pretty much anything. It’s worth it.”

Smiling, Marinette lost herself in Alya’s idle chatter. 

After school, she would go to Sabrina’s house and hopefully she could finally get some answers about what had happened in her house. She was both excited and terribly nervous. What if she found out that she had unleashed something—someone—who was better left caged?

…

At the end of the school day, Sabrina and Marinette departed the bus together and stood beneath the trees for a moment. It was cool beneath the shade of the forest and a perfumed breeze blew between the trunks. Marinette couldn’t put her finger on the scent, but it teased the edges of her mind. Was it reminiscent of flowers or pastries? Birds twittered and sang, delighting in the fruitful day they must have had seeking insects. Summer was in full swing.

“Are you sure it’s alright for me to talk to your grandmother?” Marinette asked.

Sabrina set off at a brisk pace without looking back. “She’s confused, but she’s not dangerous,” she said dismissively. “Don’t be surprised if she starts screaming like a banshee, though.”

Marinette hastened after her. “Screaming?”

“Sometimes, when her delusion is broken, she screams,” Sabrina said. Her boots crunched through the high grass at the edge of the road. “If you value your eardrums, it’s kind of in your best interest not to try to get her to understand reality. She already thought you were the Agreste’s new maid, so just go along with that and she’ll tell you anything you want to know.”

“Alright,” Marinette said. She stumbled over a fallen branch and caught herself before she fell completely. 

“You don’t have to come if you’ve changed your mind,” Sabrina called over her shoulder. “It’s not like you’re going to hurt my feelings if you bail.” 

Marinette jogged to catch up to Sabrina. “No, no, I want to talk to your grandmother.”

Sabrina’s boots crunched even more noisily on the gravel driveway before her footsteps thudded hollowly on the front stairs. She took a key from her pocket, unlocked her door, and then stepped aside to let Marinette in. Then, she closed and locked the door behind them. 

Marinette looked around in awe. Photographs hung in frames and collages all over the walls, sketching out a timeline of their lives. There were pictures of Chloé in her youth, the images in black and white and then finally color. Wedding photos of Sabrina’s parents, a birth announcement for Sabrina, and a bouquet of dried flowers rested on the living room mantle. There was Sabrina with a popsicle-stained grin, Diana making cookies at Christmas, Roger helping Sabrina to ride a bike, Chloé knitting in a sunny place by the window, a cat lying in Chloé’s lap. The collages were images of lives well-lived. Tucked to the side, there was a portrait of Sabrina’s father in his uniform and a folded up flag in a shadow box beside a medal. The sight clogged Marinette’s throat with tears.

“Does it… does it ever get easier?” Marinette whispered. She didn’t really expect Sabrina to hear or answer her since she was down the hall putting her umbrella in the closet. 

However, Sabrina’s heavy footsteps thundered behind Marinette and she abruptly put her arm around Marinette’s shoulders. Though Marinette was small and slender, Sabrina was shorter and her chin touched Marinette’s shoulder as she embraced her. “Not really,” she said honestly, “but I think that hole that’s punched in the middle of your life becomes something you can handle.”

Marinette drew in a shaky breath and let it out slowly.

Sabrina patted her on the back a little harder than strictly necessary, stepped away, and headed down the hallway. “Come on,” she said.

Marinette wiped her cheeks and followed. 

Chloé was seated at the kitchen table, sipping tea sedately from a pretty china cup and saucer. She was dressed to the nines in a summery dress and chiffon scarf with her silver hair curled elaborately around her thin face. Diana stood at the stove, stirring a pot of marinara sauce if the smell was any indicator. Sabrina greeted them, opened the fridge, and removed two yoghurts. She gave one to Marinette, grabbed some spoons, and sat down across from Chloé with a thump. 

“Ah, Marinette,” Diana said cheerfully. “What brings you to our humble abode?”

“She wants to talk to Gramma about the Agrestes,” Sabrina said before Marinette could speak. 

Diana put down her spoon purposefully and turned to face them. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea. Mom’s been so volatile lately.”

Sabrina spooned up a mouthful of yoghurt, swallowed, and answered, “But Marinette is living there. Don’t you think she deserves to hear the rumors straight from the horse’s mouth?”

“Don’t call your grandmother a horse,” Diana chided.

Sabrina stirred her yoghurt. 

Diana turned towards Marinette. “Why do you want to know about the Agrestes?”

Marinette worried the spoon between her fingers. “Well, I… I’m living in their house and I thought…”

Diana’s gaze was piercing, just like Sabine’s when she suspected Marinette was being less than truthful. 

Marinette steadied her nerves and met Diana’s gaze firmly. “Something—no, someone—is still in that house.”

“Someone?” Diana stepped backwards as though she had been physically struck. “A spirit?” She bit her thumbnail and stared out the window in the direction of the Agreste Mansion. “That doesn’t surprise me. The police never did find Adrien’s body and that’s the sort of thing that breeds restless spirits, doesn’t it?” 

Marinette bit her lower lip, dragging her teeth worriedly over it. “I’ve seen a dark-haired woman, a black cat, and Adrien in the house.”

Chloé perked up from her cup of tea. “Adrien is such a wonderful young man. I asked my father to introduce us so we could be betrothed.”

Diana sat down beside Chloé and took her hand gently. “Mom, can you tell us again about the first time you met Adrien? Marinette would like to know.”

“I only met him once,” Chloé admitted. She squeezed Diana’s fingers and smiled sadly. “He was hurt badly.”

Marinette’s heart lurched. “Hurt?”

Sabrina stopped eating. Her eyes were intense behind her glasses. 

Chloé nodded. “It was nighttime. I was home alone since Mother and Father were at a party.” Her gaze drifted. “I don’t remember what I was doing, but it was important. I was interrupted by…”

Diana rubbed the back of Chloé’s hand. “The door,” she prompted.

“Ah, yes,” Chloé murmured. “Adrien didn’t so much knock on my door as crash into it.” She tugged her hand from Diana’s and wrapped it around the teacup. “I was very concerned to answer such a horrific noise when I was alone, but his voice was so sweet. He pleaded for help, for water, for anyone to answer.” Chloé smoothed her dress against her chest. “I put aside…”

“What you were doing,” Diana added before she could grow frustrated by the teasing memory.

Chloé nodded thoughtfully. “Yes, I went to the door. I looked out the window and could just see the top of his head. His hair was so blonde that it was almost white. He saw the shadow of the curtain move and turned his head to look at me.” She reached to touch something only she could see, fingers curling as though to stroke. “He was so hurt. God, he was just so hurt, but he still smiled at me. His smile was so beautiful. How could I not let him in?”

She smiled wistfully. “I had always wanted to be a nurse, to care for people, to be loved and needed,” she sighed. “I so wanted to be worshipped for saving lives.”

Marinette swallowed.

Sabrina shoved some yoghurt into her mouth, her eyes skittering away.

Chloé straightened her cup and saucer. “I took him in and I tended him. I cleaned and dressed his wounds. I helped him drink. He asked to use the phone, but my parents wouldn’t like that. They don’t like it when strangers use our phone so I didn’t let him. I sat with him all night.” She smiled and put one hand to her cheek. “He was so persistent. The phone, the phone, the phone. He must have wanted to call his sweetheart, but he should have known that he’d already found her.”

Chloé smiled serenely. “We sat together on the sofa and chatted. It was hard for him to talk though and he kept drooling blood,” she giggled. “I think he was star-struck by my beauty.” 

Marinette’s stomach twisted. 

Sabrina pushed her yoghurt away.

Diana pressed her lips into a fine line, clasped Chloé’s hand, and took a deep breath. “Then what did you do?”

“There was pounding on the door,” Chloé said. She lifted her hands as though feeling a phantom surface. “Adrien didn’t want me to leave to answer it, but I did.” Her expression darkened and her fingers curled into fists. “I shouldn’t have. That bastard came into my house and took Adrien away from me.”

“Bastard?” Marinette repeated.

Chloé screwed up her face, thinking hard, but she didn’t speak.

“Was it… Gabriel Agreste?” Sabrina asked. 

Chloé clapped her hands together and nodded. “Yes, that’s him. That bastard,” she said with a sneer. “He was ugly too. His lip was split and he had a big fat shiner. He pushed me out of the way and I hit a table and knocked over a lamp. Adrien started screaming and begging to stay. He wanted to stay with me.” Chloé’s expression soured. “Then, it was back to the phone again. Adrien started yelling for the phone.”

“Gabriel fisted his hand in that golden hair and dragged him away. I tried to follow, I tried to get Adrien back, and I tried to help. Gabriel pushed me in the bushes and my dress ripped. I couldn’t follow and I couldn’t manage to stop him. I went back into the house and waited. I waited for Adrien for years and years. I’m still waiting for him.”

Diana took a deep breath and sat back in her chair. 

Confused, Marinette looked at Diana. 

“That’s more or less the same story she’s been telling since I was young,” Sabrina muttered, “Knowing that Adrien’s spirit hasn’t been able to rest makes it different.”

Goosebumps were raised on Marinette’s bare arms. “What else can you tell me about the Agrestes?”

Chloé beamed. “They used to have magnificent parties, but never at the house. Gabriel always had them in the city at his workshop. His fashions were to die for.”

Diana got up, stirred the sauce, and poured a glass of wine for herself. To Marinette, she said, “I don’t know how much you’ve heard or how much you know already, Marinette, but the Agrestes were a mysterious family right until the end. Gabriel was a famous fashion designer in the 20’s. He married young and had one son before his wife passed away. He homeschooled Adrien and people only saw Adrien when he modeled. It was all very tightly-controlled by Gabriel’s personal assistant, Nathalie Sancoeur.”

“Then, sometime after Adrien came here and met Mom,” Diana continued, “Adrien disappeared. The police investigated and found a massive pool of blood that matched his type in the basement. No one could have survived that much blood loss. The police assumed Adrien was murdered, but were never able to find the body.”

Chloé nodded vigorously. “I remember seeing all the police cars with their flashing lights.”

“Did they… suspect Gabriel?” Marinette asked.

Diana sipped her wine and nodded. “But they never figured out what happened to Adrien and they were never able to close the case. A few months after Adrien’s death, Nathalie was found dead in the bathroom upstairs. She had been bludgeoned in the head and Gabriel hung himself.”

Marinette bit the inside of her lip and hoped she didn’t look as pale as she felt. She wasn’t sure which death horrified her more. It was fitting that Adrien had most likely died in the basement, but to hear that Nathalie’s body had been found in the bathroom and Gabriel had hung himself was beyond frightening. She took a deep breath. 

Diana sat down across from Marinette. “You said you’d seen Adrien and a dark-haired woman.”

Marinette nodded. “It sounds like the woman is probably Nathalie.”

Diana wet her lips. “Do you think you can put those spirits to rest?”

“I don’t know,” Marinette said, “but I’m going to try.”

“If you ever find out what really happened, you have to tell me, please.”

Marinette nodded. “Of course, sure.”

Sabrina rose from the table and tossed her remaining yoghurt in the trash. “Are you finished?” she asked Marinette.

Marinette hadn’t even opened the yoghurt and she handed it to Sabrina. “Sorry. I wasn’t hungry.”

“Just let us know if we can help in any other way,” Diana said and polished off the glass of wine. 

“I will,” Marinette promised.

“Remember,” Chloé called. “Adrien is mine.”

Sabrina walked Marinette to the door and closed it behind her. For a moment, Marinette stood in their driveway and stared across the street at the Agreste mansion. She tried to imagine how Adrien must have felt as he desperately sought help from Chloé only to have things go horribly wrong. So many tiny details floated on the edges. She wondered if she’d ever be able to learn what had really happened.

X X X

Thanks again for all the support. I’m going to try to get back into the swing of updating, but I can’t promise anything.

Questions, comments, concerns?


	12. The Trunk

Well, this story actually feels a little ironic now. With everything that happened, my father actually passed away. Needless to say, it's been hard to write—especially this story—but I think if I can start working on it again, I might feel a little better on the inside.

X X X

The house was cold when Marinette entered. Closing the door quietly behind herself, she glanced upstairs. Her bedroom door stood open, but her mother’s door and the bathroom door were both closed. From where she stood on the first floor, looking up, she couldn’t see the master bedroom. The chandelier tinkled quietly and the air conditioning hummed.

“Mama?” Marinette called. She shivered in her t-shirt and walked quickly to the kitchen to check the thermostat. 

The temperature had been lowered into the fifties.

Puzzled, Marinette raised it back to a manageable level and heard the air conditioning click off with a relieved sigh.

“Don’t bother.”

Sabine’s voice startled Marinette and she turned sharply to see her mother emerge from the basement with a flashlight. She looked slightly defeated but not frightened. 

“Mama?”

“Something keeps causing it to turn down into the fifties. It doesn’t matter how many times I fix it. It’s been like that all day, ma chérie,” Sabine explained and folded her arms tightly across herself, pulling her sweatshirt closed over her breasts.

“We could try turning it off,” Marinette suggested.

Sabine shook her head. “I tried that already.”

Goosebumps rose on Marinette’s arms and she rubbed them. 

“How was school?” Sabine asked. 

“It was alright,” Marinette said.

“Did you learn anything, ma chérie?”

“About… the house?”

Sabine nodded.

“A few things, but nothing helpful,” Marinette admitted. It felt strange to be having this conversation so calmly with her mother. “Have you seen anything today?”

“No, it’s been quiet, ma chérie,” Sabine said, “other than the air conditioning.”

“I’m going to go through a few more things in the master bedroom,” Marinette explained. “Maybe I can figure something out.”

“Let me know if I can help you,” Sabine offered. 

“Will do.” 

Marinette’s footsteps echoed hollowly on the stairs and she peeked into her open bedroom. Tikki crouched just inside the door, tail erect, eyes focused straight forward. The crest of hair along her back was slightly raised, but she didn’t look threatened. 

“Tikki?”

Save for the twitch of her ear, the cat did not respond to Marinette’s voice.

Marinette followed Tikki’s gaze and almost dropped her backpack. 

Adrien stood outside on her balcony. He had his back to the bedroom and didn’t react to Marinette’s voice either.

Marinette set her backpack down quietly on her desk chair and eased the balcony door open. Though she hadn’t been silent, Adrien didn’t turn to face her. He continued staring into the backyard, as still as a statuette. His posture was relaxed and his palms rested on the railing lightly. A knot of worry squirmed in Marinette’s belly, but Adrien’s presence didn’t radiate waves of hatred or danger. 

His stillness allowed Marinette a moment to study him.

The sunlight played on his pale skin and golden hair. Wearing his same button-down shirt and dark slacks, he looked entirely solid, almost like a real person. For the first time, she realized that he was barefoot and that he had slim delicate feet. If not for the way his shape occasionally wavered translucently, Marinette might have passed him on the street without a second glance. Well, maybe she wouldn’t exactly have passed him. He was too handsome to simply pass by.

His features were befitting a fashion model. His high cheekbones, slender nose, and narrow chin were akin to portraits of royalty from earlier centuries. His almond-shaped emerald eyes were still childlike, a little too big for his adult face, and fringed with thick gold lashes. His full mouth looked like it smiled easily and brightly. The wind appeared to have tousled his hair into waves and wisps. Marinette wanted to take his photograph, but she had a feeling he wouldn’t show up. 

Gingerly, Marinette cleared her throat. 

Adrien didn’t turn. He simply angled his head towards her. A small smile tugged his mouth. “Hello, Marinette,” he said softly.

A chill washed down her spine, even though there was nothing threatening in his tone. In fact, he sounded almost… happy.

“Hi, Adrien,” Marinette choked out.

Without a word, Adrien turned his face back into the sunlight and closed his eyes. 

“Are you… messing with the air conditioner?” 

“No,” he said softly. “I’ve been here.”

“Is… Nathalie messing with the air?”

He didn’t quite shake his head. “She liked things to be orderly.”

“Then… who’s doing it?” Marinette asked. “Someone keeps turning the air down to fifty degrees.”

Adrien jolted. His green eyes were wide with shock. “Someone?” he repeated. “If it’s not me, if it’s not Nathalie—”

At their feet, the black cat hissed.

Adrien closed the space between himself and Marinette in an instant. It was less than a millisecond, less than one heartbeat. One moment, he was standing at the railing. The next, he had closed his hands around Marinette’s shoulders. She braced herself for the deathly chill of a dead spirit—like when Nathalie had touched her—but it didn’t come. Adrien’s skin was cool but not frigid. His fingers clutched at her desperately but not painfully. She could feel his grip trembling.

“You…” Adrien whispered, “You let me out. When you did that, did you let him out too?”

“Him?” Marinette repeated. 

Adrien’s gaze strayed over her shoulder as though seeing something she couldn’t. Then, he looked down at the black cat. 

The cat mewled.

“Plagg,” Adrien said and his voice was a croak of pain. “It never stopped, did it? It’ll never stop. I’ll never be free. No matter what happens, I’ll… I’ll never be at peace.” His green eyes glittered and his body wavered. 

Marinette could see the railing, the forest, and the backyard through his body. “Adrien,” she said urgently. “Wait, don’t go!” She raised her hands to grasp his wrists. For one moment, his skin felt cool and solid but then her fingers pressed through him as though passing through cool shallow water. She clutched air.

Adrien solidified before her. She could feel his fingertips pressing into her t-shirt. 

“Talk to me,” she said. “Tell me what happened. Maybe I can help you.”

Fear sparked in Adrien’s face. “No one can help me,” he said. “No one ever would.”

“I want to help!” Marinette insisted. “Tell me what happened to you. Tell me where your body is.”

Horror fell across his expression and Adrien vanished sharply.

Marinette stumbled forward in surprise. She hadn’t realized that she had been leaning into Adrien’s hands in a plea to keep him there. “Adrien!” she shouted. “Adrien!”

He did not return.

However, the black cat that he had called Plagg remained. The cat looked up at her with bright soulful green eyes, gaze unwavering. He meowed at her and then trotted into her bedroom. 

Marinette remained standing on her balcony, the warm summer air mingling with the cold draft of the air conditioning. Goosebumps prickled on her skin. 

Plagg stopped in the bedroom, paused, and turned to look at her. His green eyes burned into her.

“Do you… want me to follow you?” Marinette whispered.

Tikki got up, approached Plagg, and sniffed him cautiously. The black cat didn’t react to Tikki at all, keeping his eyes focused on Marinette. Tikki’s fur remained smooth and her tail didn’t puff up. She walked over to Marinette and rubbed against her calves. Marinette took a deep breath and followed Plagg into the hallway. 

Marinette could hear Sabine downstairs, repeating phrases in English from her learning tapes. A bubble of warmth for her mother swelled in Marinette’s chest. After everything they had been through after Tom’s death and now this haunted house, she was still doing what she had set her mind to. 

Plagg meowed again.

Marinette followed him.

Plagg walked towards the master bedroom, his tail erect and swaying like a flag. Marinette followed him like a leaf caught in a current, uncertain but unable to leave. Just outside the master bedroom, Plagg stopped dead. His tail puffed, his back arched, and he hissed. Unbidden, the master bedroom door swung open, but the threshold was empty. Marinette couldn't see anyone. 

Footsteps echoed on the hardwood floor, approaching. 

Plagg reacted as though kicked. His little body crashed into the wall and he disappeared without a trace. Unable to avoid something she couldn't see, Marinette remained frozen where she stood. She braced for a blow that she wouldn't be able to see coming, for phantom hands to assault her, and for an icy chill to dissolve her bones. 

The footsteps drew closer until they were certainly on top of her. 

Marinette's very soul filled with an absolute and intangible wrongness that she felt deep inside. It was like the genetic fear that came up when looking at a colored spider, a coiled snake, the flickers of red flames—she absolutely had to avoid it at all costs. The urge to run gripped her. If she stayed, something terrible would happen. She just knew it. The threat bloomed inside her, rising into a panic that she hadn't felt since looking at the newspapers. Her heartbeat raced, her vision narrowed, and her palms began to sweat. 

Behind her, the footsteps continued.

She dropped to her knees, struggling to orient herself in the void of panic. Her heart pounded like a drum in her ears, blocking out all other sounds. She could smell something stale and sour. Fear churned beneath her skin. She felt trapped and desperate. Her vision was too narrow to make out most of the house beyond a few feet. She thought of leaping over the railing to escape, she thought of running to the nearest window, she thought of the basement. 

Tikki pressed into her legs, warm and soft.

Marinette forced herself to focus on the cat. One by one, she unclenched her fists and took deep breaths. She counted to ten, anchored herself, and opened her eyes. She could see the hallway, sunlight streaming through the windows. Slowly, like water draining from a tub, the gut-wrenching panic subsided. Marinette let out a breath and felt empty.

What was that?

Plagg was gone, but Tikki meowed at her with concern. 

Marinette stumbled to her feet and leaned on the railing. She could still hear Sabine, repeating phrases, learning English because she needed to—because this was their life now, because Tom was gone. All at once, anger took root in Marinette's chest. This house was supposed to be a fresh start for her mother and her. It was supposed to be safe. It was supposed to be free of haunting ghosts. That was why they had left the home they had made in France—with Tom—behind them. How dare some dark spirit loiter here, frightening them and imposing on their sanctuary?

Marinette pushed away to the railing. She stomped to the master bedroom where the door still hung open and stared inside at the ruin of someone else's life. How dare more grief spill over into her life? She couldn't take any more and she certainly didn't want to.

Marinette marched to the steamer trunk, sitting there at the foot of the large bed innocently. She hadn't yet found the key and she had lost patience for searching. So what that Adrien had asked her not to open it. He was dead and it wasn't as if anyone else was giving her any answers. The lock was complex, but it simply latched into an opening on the trunk. Rummaging through the rolltop desk, Marinette found a letter opener. She wedged the tip between the latch and the opening, jimmied it around, and finally sighed with satisfaction. 

Putting the letter opener back, she hesitated. What would she find inside the chest? She had seen it in the basement with Adrien just before the door had knocked her backwards. When that happened, she had the impression of unspeakable horrors inside the chest. What if it contained Adrien's body?

Taking a deep breath through her nose, Marinette said aloud to console herself, “Good riddance if it is. The police can bury him and this whole mess will be over and done with.”

From the corner of her eye, she saw the dark shape of a black cat at the threshold. Plagg's green eyes glowed.

Ignoring the cat, Marinette grasped the leather handles of the steamer trunk and opened the lid. 

Strapped against the lid in individual sheathes were knives. There were ten—no, twenty. Horrified, Marinette could only stare at the vast sizes, lengths, and serrations. Beside the knives was a hammer with a rounded head and sharp teeth. It was rusted or at least she hoped it was. She didn't' want to think about what else it could have been covered in.

The chest was filled to bursting with chains. Lengths and lengths, coils upon coils. Some links were broken, some were rusted, others were perfect. No wonder the chest had been too heavy to move. It was packed with instruments of torture. Her hand shook as she reached to touch the chains. She lifted one length, listening to it rattle against itself. 

Could something be at the bottom?

Did she want to know if something was? 

She dropped the chain onto the floor noisily and reached for another—and another. 

“Stop it!”

Marinette jolted. She whirled to face Adrien.

His expression was wild, caught somewhere between enraged and terrified. “I told you not to open that!”

“I had to!” Marinette shouted back at him. It felt so good to yell at someone, to let out all the emotions that she had kept caged since her father's death. If she couldn't bear to be sad, then she wanted to be angry. This house full of ghosts and this dead boy who wouldn't talk to her were as good targets as any. “I have to know!”

He flinched.

“I need answers!” she screamed. “I'm living in this house and I have no idea what happened here!”

Adrien approached, his footsteps silent yet jangling noisily when they met the chains. He slipped on the mess she had made, caught himself, and slammed the chest shut. 

Marinette snatched her fingers away and glared at him. “What's in there?” she demanded.

Adrien's eyes were like glass, empty and cold.

Marinette batted at him, but he was incorporeal and untouchable. However, that meant he couldn't stop her either. She opened the steamer trunk again, jostling the knives lined up so neatly inside the lid. The countless chains stared up at her, mocking. “What's inside?” she shouted.

“I don't want to remember!” Adrien yelled. “Get out!” He shoved at her, but his hands passed through her shoulders once, twice, three times before becoming solid enough to force her stumbling backwards. 

Marinette bumped into the desk, sending papers scattering from the open rolltop. “No!” she shouted. “You get out! You're already dead! Why are you still here?!”

Adrien's body heaved with breath he no longer needed. “I can't leave!” he screamed at her. “Don't you think I would have gone if I could? Do you think I want to be trapped here?”

“I don't know!” Marinette yelled. “Do you?!” She pushed off the desk and approached the trunk again.

Adrien put himself between them, but she passed through him harmlessly. He didn't even feel cold.

Marinette grabbed another handful of chains and dragged them out over the lip of the trunk.

“I said stop!” Adrien shouted. There was a wail in his voice, a desperate and sad plea, but Marinette ignored it.

She wanted answers and she wanted them now.

A cat yowled.

The lid of the trunk snapped shut and Plagg perched atop it, green eyes aglow. Marinette tried to brush the cat away, but her hand passed through him. When she tried to open the chest, she found herself unable to. It was as though the lid was too heavy, as though Plagg's weight was enough to hold it shut. Irritated, she kicked at the heap of chains that she had created.

“What am I supposed to do?” she shouted. Her voice broke. Tears clogged her throat and burned in her eyes. “What do I do now?”

Plagg stared at her.

Adrien wavered.

A tear slid down her cheek, leaving a cold trail. “Daddy,” she whimpered. “What am I supposed to do? I need you!” The floodgates holding her sorrow in check poured open. She sank to her knees and buried her face in her hands, sobbing heart-brokenly. 

There were so many things she wished she could ask her father, so many things she needed his help with, and he was gone. She still didn't know how to swim or bake a quiche and he was gone. He could never teach her. And now, her father who had always been so strong and brave, who had always faced every problem head on, who had taken her on a tour of the catacombs when no one else would, was gone.

And she lived in a house filled with ghosts.

She needed him.

A tentative hand touched her shoulder.

Marinette sniffled, but didn't fight the tears. She let them dry up before she lifted her face from her palms. She saw the chipped petal-pink nail polish, but didn't let it choke her. She was exhausted inside, overwhelmed by this problem that spanned decades. Who was she to fix it anyway?

Plagg remained perched on the trunk.

Adrien wasn't looking at her, but the weight of his hand was comforting. “You're better off without a father,” he said softly. “All he can do is hurt you.”

Somehow, his words made her sad in a different way. Even though Tom was gone, he had still been Marinette's father and she had loved him. Adrien had never gotten to feel his father's love. She was grateful to have had even the short time she had with Tom and she wouldn't trade that for the world. She loved her father and his being gone didn't change that. 

“Adrien,” Marinette said softly.

He looked at her, surprised by the sound of his name.

“Tell me what happened to you,” she said. “I want to help. I want to put you to rest.”

“You can't,” he said softly. 

“And you can't know that,” she insisted. “It's been seventy years since you died. Things had changed.”

Adrien let out a shaky breath. 

“Start simple,” Marinette said. “Tell me what's inside that chest underneath the chains, if there's anything at all.”

Adrien rose from where he had been crouched beside her, lifting his comforting hand away from her shoulder. He stood over the chest, staring down through the closed lid. His entire shape wavered and trembled. Marinette couldn't imagine the emotions going through him at that moment. Had those knives and chains been used on him?

“A curse,” he said finally.

Marinette stared at his back, able to see the shape of the bed through him. “A curse?”

Adrien stretched out his hand and stroked the top of Plagg's head. The cat nuzzled into the touch, purring and mewling softly. “It'll be dark soon,” he murmured, “and I have to get back.”

“Why do you have to go into the basement?”

Adrien cast his eyes over his shoulder to look at her. Fear and pain pinched his expression. “It's the place that I'm safe.”

Marinette thought of the little room, of the vision she had seen of him all bloodstained and broken. That couldn't have been true. 

“Ma chérie? What's wrong? I heard you yelling,” Sabine asked from the threshold of the master bedroom. 

Marinette glanced at her mother, but when she looked back, Adrien was gone. 

Sabine picked her way into the room and looked down at the mess of chains scattered on the floor. “Where did these come from?”

“The trunk,” Marinette indicated.

Sabine stared down at it, ventured out a hand, hesitated, and thought better of touching it. “What else is inside?”

Marinette shook her head. “You don't want to know.”

Sabine regarded her.

“Knives and hammers,” Marinette said finally. 

Sabine shuddered and spoke God's name. “What happened in this house?”

Marinette shook her head. “I don't know, but I'm going to find out.”

…

After dinner, Marinette ran the shower. She waited habitually for the dingy water to clear, mourned her lack of mirror as she combed her hair, and hung her towel to dry. In her room, she found Tikki on the dresser. The cat had batted down the decorative box that held Adele's broach. Marinette picked it up from the floor, dragged Tikki off the dresser, and studied the ornament. It was beautiful, just like Adele. 

How had Adrien's mother died?

Again, Marinette though of going to her laptop and searching, but she dismissed the idea. The panic attack and subsequent emotional outburst earlier had left her rattled. She was drained and she just wanted to go to sleep and wake up in a normal house. However, she knew that was impossible.

Instead, she left her bedroom door open and hoped that she would have another dream—or nightmare or vision—of Adrien in the basement. Hopefully, she could get some answers out of him in whatever state that was between sleep and awake. 

Marinette opened the window a crack to let in the night air and stared outside at the sparkling fountains. The bubble of the running water was soothing, even if the sight of the empty dark pool made her nervous. At the treeline of the backyard, she could see the shape of a woman in the moonlight. 

Why was Nathalie standing out there, staring into the woods?

Marinette thought about going onto the balcony and calling to Nathalie, but her exchanges with the female spirit hadn't been ideal and she didn't fancy another run in. Instead, she turned back to her bed where Tikki was waiting. She pulled back the covers and laid down. Tikki settled on top of her, purring soothingly.

X X X

Special thanks to Violet Liano.

Questions, comments, concerns?


	13. The Stairs to the Afterlife

My piece of garbage ASUS laptop failed again. [Don't ever buy an ASUS. It is the worst computer I have ever owned and I was alive and on computers in the 90s.] so I'm using a back up laptop on which the N key works sporadically. Let me know if any Ns are missing.

I really appreciate everyone's patience and support. I will finish this story!

X X X

The cold woke Marinette. Tikki was like a little fire against her side, burning and purring where she nestled in. Shivering, Marinette sat up and looked around her bedroom. Cool moonlight cast through the windows, falling across her floor in slats and slashes. She could see the bars again, showing through the light streaming in. A different shiver washed through her. 

Was she dreaming?

Or was this... some kind of waking nightmare?

She shook herself and clutched the covers to her shoulders. For Adrien, this had been reality. She stared through the bars at the backyard beyond. She could see Nathalie standing at the edge of the forest, the spot of bright red in her hair like a beacon. Marinette wondered what she was staring at. What could be out there in the dark woods?

Marinette momentarily entertained the idea of getting out of bed and turning the air off again, but there didn't seem to be much point. Whatever else was in the house wasn't going to let the temperature stay at a reasonable level. The tip of her nose was as cold as though it was winter. 

Marinette glanced out the window again. Nathalie was still just standing there at the treeline. It reminded her of the time Nathalie had attacked her in the middle of the night, leaving an icy welt on her hand. That night, Marinette had gotten up for a glass of warm milk to soothe her nerves, but Nathalie had ferociously attacked her.

“No one is coming to help you!” Nathalie had screamed.

Nathalie had prevented Marinette from rifling through the roll top desk and entering the master bathroom. But then her spirit had acted out the last moments of her life and vanished. Marinette had only seen her outside since. What was Nathalie protecting in the master bathroom? In that desk? What did she want to protect? 

In the backyard, what was Nathalie looking at?

With one final glance to make sure Nathalie hadn't moved, Marinette swung her legs out of bed. The floor was frigid and she quickly stuffed her feet into slippers and shrugged into a robe. She hastened down the hallway to the master bedroom, closed the door, turned on the light, and passed the steamer truck without a second glance. 

She rifled through the desk, drawers, and contents. Nothing leaped out at her as particularly worth protecting or hiding. It seemed to be all paperwork from running a successful fashion business—invoices, schedules, prices, designs, and orders. The designs were stunning, some sketched roughly on crumpled paper and others inked beautifully in a pristine though yellowed notebook. Had Adrien lived, the name Agreste would probably be among the greats like Ralph Lauren and Coco Chanel. 

In the bottom drawer, there was an album bound in supple leather and printed with gold-leaf lettering. Adrien's name was printed on the cover, elaborate and beautiful. Marinette's throat went dry and she lifted it reverently from the messy drawer. Her hands shook as she opened it to the first page. What would she find inside? Graphic blurred imaged of the damage done to Adrien in the basement? Pristine post mortem photographs of Adrien? 

Instead, the album was filled with images from magazines and newspapers and countless professional black-and-white photographs. They were from modeling shoots, she realized, though some of the images had been cropped away from the clothing to focus only on Adrien's face. 

If Marinette that thought he was a beautiful ghost, words didn't describe how stunning he was when he was made-up and lighted perfectly. His face had been airbrushed and highlighted. His lips pouted and his eyes danced. Though smiling beautifully in some, the grin never reached his eyes, but he was beautiful regardless. 

Were these images Gabriel's trophy? 

Or his memorial?

Why had Gabriel Agreste kept these images of the son that he had murdered? 

Hadn't he...?

Marinette put the album back into the drawer, rolled the top of the desk shut, and turned her attention to the bathroom. For every puzzle piece that she uncovered, it seemed that she just found several more. 

It was odd that the door opened outwards, rather than swinging inwards, but Marinette had stopped questioning this house long ago. She pulled the door open, reached inside, and tentatively turned on the light. She wasn't sure what to expect.

It was the first time she had seen inside the master bathroom and it was no less than what she expected after the grandeur of the rest of the mansion. It had double sinks with elaborate faucets, a massive gold-framed mirror, a stall shower with ornately tiled walls, and a huge garden tub. The shadows fell oddly on the tub and in the mirror.

Marinette stepped into the bathroom to get a better look. 

The tub wasn't shadowed, she realized. Perfectly still, without a single ripple, black water filled the tub like ink. Marinette didn't want to reach into that water. She almost turned around, climbed back into her warm bed, and pretended she hadn't seen anything. Maybe in the light of morning, the tub would be empty. However, Marinette didn't think she would get this chance again. The house was cold and quiet. Adrien was in the basement, Nathalie was in the backyard, and Gabriel Agreste... well, he wasn't standing over her shoulder at least.

Marinette rolled up her sleeve and cautiously reached into the water. It wasn't cold yet it wasn't warm. Marinette imagined it was the temperature of a shallow grave and shivered. She found the drain and pulled the plug. Disgusted, she jerked her hand from the water and stood, staring down at the tub as it slowly drained. A shape remained, revealing itself drop by drop, against the white porcelain. 

The shape of a body, small and slender like Adrien, but with tendrils of long hair.

Nathalie.

Nauseous, Marinette turned away sharply and braced herself against the vanity. Diana and Sabrina had told her that Nathalie had been found dead in the bathroom, but Marinette hadn't known what to expect. She had seen Nathalie's spirit bludgeoned and now this. That poor woman...

“I don't think he meant to kill me.”

The voice startled Marinette and she nearly fell in her haste to turn towards the sound. Nathalie stood in the doorway, looking much the same as before save the awareness in her face. It was like that moment when she had walked through the desk and looked down at herself—like she knew, like she remembered.

“N-Nathalie,” Marinette whispered. The memory of Nathalie's frigid grip chilled her to the bones. She wanted to back away but Nathalie stood in the doorway and Marinette could only get further from the woman if she stepped into the stained bathtub. She wasn't sure which prospect frightened her more.

However, it took several seconds for Nathalie's words to sink in.

“You... don't think he meant to kill you? Who?” Marinette asked, “Gabriel?”

Nathalie's eyes were dark behind her glasses and pinned Marinette in place like a physical hand pressing down. “Mr. Agreste,” she said with great purpose, “was a kind man who loved his family. After Adele died, I don't think he meant to do any of it.”

“Mr. Agreste killed Adrien?” Marinette asked softly.

Nathalie didn't answer. 

Instead, she gazed through Marinette at the bathtub. “I was still alive after Mr. Agreste struck me. He carried me in and put me in the tub. I remember feeling the blood from my head soaking into my back. I couldn't move. I must have been paralyzed.” Nathalie's form wavered and, when she solidified, she had moved closer. “He sat there next to me, crying, whispering, holding my hand, for a long time. He kept apologizing—to me, to Adrien, to Adele. He didn't mean to do it. He just wanted a family.”

Marinette glanced at the floor beside the tub, trying to imagine the stern well-coiffed man she had seen in the portrait sitting on the floor here, weeping beside the woman he had murdered.

“I could see it then,” Nathalie murmured.

“See what?” Marinette asked gingerly.

Nathalie looked at Marinette. “I had heard him talking to it before. He'd be in his office, talking, and when I opened the door, he'd be all alone. But, lying there, bleeding, I could finally see it,” Nathalie said. “I could see it in the mirror.”

Unbidden, Marinette's eyes darted to the mirror behind Nathalie. It was the only mirror she had found in the whole house. Why had they all been removed?

Nathalie wavered, as transparent as a sheet of glass, only the vague outline of her blood-red hair and dark eyes remaining. She said, “I could see the curse.”

Nathalie's voice echoed inside Marinette's head. Her heart pounded so hard that it felt as though her ribs would break from the force of the beating. Her blood ran cold and her palms began to sweat. She almost didn't want to look away from Nathalie. She didn't want to look in the mirror. She didn't want to see it. She didn't want to see anything, but... how could she not look? 

The gold-framed mirror hung above the twin sinks, reflecting an image of the bathroom. Marinette stared into it, shifting her position slightly to see whatever she could. Goosebumps rose all over her skin. Through the bathroom door, she saw something move—a dark shape.

“Don't look,” Nathalie whispered.

But Marinette couldn't not look. She had to see.

Marinette stepped closer to Nathalie, further from the tub, and more to the right. In the mirror, she could see more of the master bedroom. She could see the steamer trunk, the corner of the portraits, and the vase with flowers on it. 

Moving among them all, she could see the dark shape—the curse. 

It writhed, squirmed, and shifted. It was never solid enough to have a clear outline. As though made up of thousands of black insects, it surged and shuffled around the room. It was almost as though it was searching for something. It moved like a plume of smoke yet so dark that she couldn't see through it. 

Fear swelled in Marinette's chest, pressing all the air from her lungs and crushing her heart.

The bathroom door creaked and slowly swung shut. Nathalie re-materialized in front of her, her hand lingering on the knob. 

“You can see it in the mirror,” Nathalie said. 

“That's the curse?” Marinette asked. “Where did it come from?”

Nathalie shook her head. “I don't know,” she murmured. “I think... it was always here.”

“In this house?”

Nathalie tilted her head. “In this family,” she said.

“Family,” Marinette repeated.

“It will follow me when I leave,” Nathalie said. “Be careful.” She opened the bathroom door, stepped outside, and disappeared. 

Marinette stared into the master bedroom, searching for the dark shape of the curse, but she couldn't see it. She looked quickly at the mirror. The black shape surged towards the bedroom door, expanding larger and larger. It overwhelmed the threshold of the door, pressing and swelling against the frame. It gushed through the door and disappeared from the view of the mirror.

Marinette's skin crawled. Revolted, she stared into the mirror, trying to see as much of the master bedroom as possible, but she couldn't see the black form. It was gone and so was Nathalie. Marinette didn't want to turn off the lights, but she forced herself to. She was an adult. And besides, she doubted the light would keep away the things that lived with her in this house. In the pitch darkness, she made her way back to her bedroom. Hastily, she kicked off her slippers and jumped into bed. 

Tikki meowed questioningly at her. The crest of hair was raised on the back of her neck. Had she seen the curse pass by the door, following Nathalie? Marinette looked out the window, but she didn't see anyone or anything in the backyard. The fountains bubbled and the pool was filled with shadows.

Marinette thought of the tub, stained with the shape of Nathalie's dead body.

She shuddered, pulled the covers up to her shoulders, and tried to close her eyes. Each time she did, she couldn't help but see that writhing mass of darkness—the curse—surging out the doorway after Nathalie's spirit. Was that was she was dealing with? 

But, how could she ever face something like that?

Beyond the windows, the edge of sunrise began to peek over the dark forest.

…

The air-conditioning situation hadn't improved overnight. In fact, it was even colder when Marinette woke. She could almost see her breath pluming in front of her. She dressed in jeans and boots, pulled a sweater on over her t-shirt, and zipped it up. Tikki jumped into the window and meowed noisily until Marinette picked up the container of cat food. Marinette petted her behind the ears until she purred and shook some food into her bowl. 

Beyond the windows, the morning sky was painted hues of orange, pink, and lingering blues. The green grass sparkled with dew and sunlight danced on the running fountains. Birds sang and crickets chirped. There was no sign of Nathalie. In the glass, Marinette suddenly became aware that she could see something besides her own reflection. There was a dark shape behind her.

Marinette whirled around and came face to face with Adrien. She yelped, startled. 

He disappeared immediately.

“Adrien! Wait, come back!” Marinette shouted.

He reappeared and his green eyes were luminous. “You didn't look happy to see me,” he said. His voice was surprisingly soft and sorrowful. 

“You just startled me,” Marinette said hastily. “I'm a little on edge.”

“Should I leave?” 

Marinette stifled to the urge to remark that he couldn't leave—at all. He had been trapped her for more than seventy years. “No, no, please stay. Let's talk.”

Adrien's hand fluttered along his arm and Marinette thought of how she has seen his wrist in the basement, bent and broken. Did it still hurt? Was it still broken even now that the night was over, hidden under his long-sleeved shirt? Did all his injuries remain, or just his wrist?

“I don't want to talk about... what happened,” he said softly. 

Marinette swallowed. She really wanted to ask Adrien about the curse he had said was inside the steamer trunk, but she knew he would just disappear if she pressed him. Instead, she nodded. “Sure. What do you want to talk about?”

Plagg trotted into the room, jumped into the window beside Tikki, and began licking his paws. 

Tikki sniffed at him, meowed at Marinette, and then chose to ignore the black cat.

“Can we... go outside?” Adrien asked. 

Marinette couldn't deny him, not when his voice wavered like that and it seemed as though a strong breeze would blow away all remnants of his courage. “Sure, let's go downstairs,” she said brightly. “I'll just let my mama know.”

“Mama,” Adrien repeated.

Marinette gave Tikki a quick scratch, put out her hand for Plagg, and then withdrew it without touching him. She wasn't sure what it would be like to pet a ghost cat, but she wasn't ready to find out. She beckoned Adrien to follow her downstairs, but didn't look to see if he did so.

Sabine was seated at the kitchen table in a thick fluffy bathrobe against the chill. She had a mug of steaming coffee in front of her and an empty plate. Despite everything, she had her headphones on and was listening to her English lessons.

Marinette pressed a kiss to her cheek and said, “Good morning, Mama.”

“Good morning, ma chérie,” Sabine said. “How did you sleep?”

“Fine, except for the cold,” Marinette said. She moved towards the fridge, pulled it open, and stared at the contents for something to eat while she walked outside with Adrien. “How about you?”

Sabine didn't answer.

Marinette turned around and realized that Adrien had followed her downstairs and into the kitchen. He was just standing there, hands in his pockets, looking small and awkward with his green eyes down-turned. Sabine's gaze was fixed on him, her face pale and her mouth slightly open. This was the first time Sabine had actually seen one of the spirits that they shared their home with. Hastily, Marinette closed the fridge.

“Mama,” Marinette said. “This is Adrien.”

To her credit, Sabine took a deep breath, schooled the shock from her features, and smiled at the dead boy. “Hello Adrien,” she said in French. “It's very nice to meet you.”

Adrien's shape wavered.

Marinette flapped her hands and said, “Sorry, Adrien. My mama only speaks French. She said, 'Hello Adrien. It's very nice to meet you.'”

Adrien looked back and forth between them. Slowly, a smile graced his features. For the very first time, Marinette thought that he looked happy. His luminous green eyes, though still dark and sad, sparkled. In very halting French, he said, “Nice meet lady.”

Sabine stifled a laugh. She offered her hand to him. 

After hesitating, Adrien extended his hand to her. 

Marinette pressed her lips into a fine line, concerned about what would happen when they shook hands. However, Sabine grasped his hand lightly and shook it. Adrien didn't disappear and his touch remained firm against Sabine's. Marinette let out a breath she didn't know what had been holding. Subtly, Sabine stared at her hand as though just as surprised as Marinette.

“Mama, we're going to walk around outside for a while,” Marinette said by way of changing the subject. 

“Alright, be careful, ma chérie.”

Marinette said, “Come on, Adrien.”

He vanished sharply and reappeared at the threshold of the door in front of her. 

Marinette followed him down the hallway, through the foyer, and to the back door. She let them both outside. Compared to the icy chill of overzealous air-conditioning inside the house, the air outside felt tropical by comparison. She shrugged out of her sweater and hung it on the doorknob to put on when she went back inside. 

Standing in the high grass, shadowed by the running fountain, Adrien looked stunning. He looked alive. Sunlight dappled his face, tinting his golden hair green, and reflected on his white shirt. He closed his eyes and tipped his face into the sun. “It feels like so long since I've been outside.”

Marinette stepped over some weeds and stood in the sunlight beside him. “When was the last time you were outside?”

“The night I was buried.”

Marinette's heart stopped.

“Sorry,” Adrien said. “I know I said I don't want to talk about it, but... it's all I can think about. I've been trapped inside this house my whole life—and my whole afterlife. I'm never going to get out.”

Marinette took a deep breath so that she wouldn't blurt that she would help lay his spirit to rest. “I'd like to help you,” she ventured, “if you'd let me.”

“It's dangerous,” Adrien said without looking at her. 

Marinette couldn't argue with that—not after she had seen that massive dark figure, that curse in the master bedroom.

“I can't ask anyone to endanger themselves for me,” Adrien said softly. “I'm already dead and you... you're still alive. Your mother loves you. You have a chance to be happy.”

“I still want to help you, Adrien. You don't deserve this.”

He shrugged. “I'm already dead. It doesn't matter.”

Marinette studied him. He was cradling his arm to his chest, thin fingers folded over his wrist. Gingerly, she reached out to touch him. Her fingers bumped his shoulder, found him to be solid, gripped gently, and turned him to face her. His green eyes were luminous.

“Adrien,” she whispered. “Where... where are you buried?”

His eyes strayed from her and fell. “I don't know,” he confessed. “Somewhere... in the forest...”

Marinette turned to follow his gaze. “You... don't know?”

He shook his head, golden hair feathering against his cheeks. “I remember my father carrying my body out of the basement. I tried to follow him, but I couldn't leave the house. I stood at the window and watched. He was gone for so long. I guess... it's hard to bury someone...”

Marinette swallowed thickly. It felt like there was a stone in her throat. Beyond just the thought of Gabriel burying his son in the woods, she remembered standing over her father's grave. She remembered the smell of the fresh-tilled grave earth, the weight of that first shovelful of soil that she threw over his casket, the burn of tears in her eyes, the cold wind biting into her bare skin, the sight of her fresh petal-pink nail polish.

“Do you want to look in the forest?” she asked kindly.

Adrien shook his head. “It's been too long. There'd be no sign of my body now.” He appeared to shake himself. On a spirit, it looked as though he shed his expression. He forced a smile. “Come on,” he said. “Walk with me.”

Marinette fell into step beside him. Together, they circled the backyard. Adrien marveled at the fountains, stretching his white hands beneath the cool flowing water. His skin, oddly enough, grew even paler as the water ran over it, as though washing something away. They stood together and looked up at the beautiful angel. When they reached the sunken fountain, Marinette knelt to splash her fingers in the water.

“I'd like to put fish in here,” she told him.

He crouched with her, his shoulder brushing hers. “That would be nice. I like fish.”

“Have you ever been to the ocean?”

“Yes,” he murmured. “When I was alive, my father took me to a photo shoot there. It was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen—sparkling waves, golden sand, so much sun. I wanted to leap in and swim to France.”

Marinette forced herself not to chuckle. 

“I never wanted to leave that beach,” Adrien said. He dipped his fingers into the water and closed his eyes as though envisioning himself there. “I wonder if there's any way for me to see one again.”

Marinette didn't have an answer for him. She was searching for a delicate way to change the subject when a woman's shrill terrified scream split the morning air. 

The scream rattled Marinette's bones. She lurched to her feet so quickly that part of her legs moved through Adrien's body. She didn't register the temperature of his spirit. Her heart had swelled into her throat, choking off her air and making it hard to draw breath.

“Mama!” 

Like a shot, Marinette raced back to the house. She crashed through the back door. Her sweater, hooked over the doorknob, swung wildly like a dark sail. She raced through the foyer, barreled down the hallway, and skidded into the kitchen. Sabine's seat at the kitchen table was vacant, her coffee cup abandoned. 

“Mama!” Marinette shouted.

Like an invitation, the basement door hung open. It was pitch dark beyond the threshold. 

“Marinette! Stop!” Adrien screamed.

“Mama!” 

Marinette raced towards the open door. She grabbed the handle and hung onto it. Desperately, she slapped at the light switch, but it remained black beyond the tiny stretch of sunlight seeping around Marinette's body. 

“Marinette, no! Don't!” Adrien shouted.

Despite the darkness, Marinette put her foot on the top step. If her mother was in danger, she had to help. Sabine was all she had left. She let go of the doorknob and put her hand on the wobbly railing. The step creaked under her weight.

“Mama!”

A chill poured over Marinette. It was like before, when she had tried to follow Plagg into the master bedroom and been passed through by something she couldn't see—Gabriel? The dark curse? Fear gripped her very core, rushed through every inch of her body, and froze her completely. She couldn't move, couldn't breathe, couldn't speak. The fear was all-encompassing. 

“Marinette!” Sabine gasped. 

Marinette turned and had an instant to realize the scream she heard must not have belonged to Sabine. Her mother looked fine. In fact, she had even gotten dressed. 

Then, beneath her feet, the top step broke. A shriek clawed up her throat and she desperately reached out for help. Sabine was too far, but Adrien lunged for her. For a moment, she thought he would reach her in time. She thought his hand was close enough. She felt his fingers brush her own, but it wasn't enough. Her abdomen struck the threshold as she fell, snapping something in her chest.

Marinette plummeted. Her hand shot out helplessly and managed to latch onto the railing. For a moment, she hung suspended. Abruptly, the railing snapped from its moorings and the wood cut into her palm. With a hideous crash, the entire staircase gave way. Marinette fell to the concrete floor in a mess of nails and splintered wood. She heard something crack and tasted blood. Pain roared through her, blacking out the edges of her vision.

She glimpsed Plagg sitting above her, silhouetted against the sunlight.

Then, everything disappeared.

…

The basement light snapped on.

Sabine flew to the threshold of the basement door as fast as her legs could carry her. “Marinette!” she screamed. “Marinette!” Throwing herself to her knees and clutching the broken edge of the doorway, she looked down into the basement. 

Marinette lay there admist the ruin like a broken doll, limbs splayed across the concrete. She didn't stir, even as Sabine screamed her name again.

Sabine looked over at Adrien, but he was no help. He didn't speak French and he was dead. In fact, he looked even more horrified than she felt which spurred Sabine into frantic action. There was no way to get down there and check on her baby, not with the staircase shattered. 

Sabine jumped back to her feet, grabbed her phone, and stared at it. Who did she call in America? She couldn't speak English. She couldn't call an ambulance for her child.

No—Sabine would not lose anyone else.

Clutching her phone to her chest, she rushed out of the house. 

The warm air cleared her head and left her with an idea. She fled across the street and pounded on the neighbor's front door relentlessly until a red-haired young girl pulled it open. The girl looked shocked to find Sabine standing there, panting and shaking.

“Sabrina, who is it?” Diana called.

“Help,” Sabine shouted in French. “Diana!”

Diana rounded the corner and immediately saw the panic in Sabine's face. “What is it? What happened?” 

Despite all her listening and attempts to learn, Sabine couldn't remember a single word in English. Her mind was a white sheet, blank with worry. She chattered hopelessly in French, waving her hands. She grasped Diana's sleeve and tugged urgently.

Diana struggled to follow her words, even as she let Sabine pull her outside. Finally, she picked out one word whose meaning she could not possibly forget.

“Marinette! Elle est,” Sabine pleaded, “morte.”

X X X

Anyone who actively speaks French is welcome to tell me about anything incorrect with that final sentence. Google translate and I did the best we could and it's a pretty simple sentence so hopefully no one who speaks French is horribly offended. 

Questions, comments, concerns?


	14. The Curse: Part I

I can't wait for Halloween. It's one of my favorite holidays.

X X X

The wailing siren came first, followed by countless lights. Adrien watched the ambulance pull into the driveway with longing. He had never seen such a sight before. Paramedics poured out, opening all the doors and hustling into the mansion with their bags. He watched them rush in, lower a make-shift ladder into the basement, and bend over Marinette's prone form. 

Sabine, Diana, and Sabrina stood together out of the way. Sabine looked on, hands clenched and back straight, while Diana tried awkwardly to comfort her in French. Sabrina's eyes were wide and her face was pale. She looked like she was going to go into shock.

“She's still alive,” Adrien heard one of the paramedics say. “She's unconscious though. Get a backboard. A fall like that might have damaged her spine.”

Adrien hadn't realized that he could still feel relief. He felt so numb most of the time—just cold and afraid. He watched as they lifted Marinette out of the basement. Her white arm hung over the edge of the stretcher, fingers curled limply like the legs of a spider. Unbidden and without cause, Adrien thought of his mother. They carried Marinette out to the ambulance.

Sabine and Diana followed, speaking in a halting mixture of English and French. Adrien didn't understand what they were saying, but Sabine got into the back of the ambulance with her daughter. The vehicle pulled away, lights flashing though the siren was quiet.

Diana patted Sabrina's cheeks gently. “Sweetheart, are you alright?”

Sabrina nodded. “It's just... it reminds me of when Dad...”

Diana pulled her close and smoothed down her hair. “I know, baby, I know.”

Diana and Sabrina crossed the street and disappeared into their house. A few moments later, they followed in Diana's car with an old woman in the backseat. There was something familiar about her, but he couldn't place why he recognized her. 

As before, he found himself alone in the house.

Well, not completely alone. 

Tikki sat at his feet, looking up at him with sorrowful eyes. She meowed at him. 

“She'll be alright,” Adrien told the cat.

Tikki's plaintive meow echoed against the walls of the empty house.

Adrien bent down to pet her soft fur. She was so warm. It felt like a small eternity had passed since he had last been warm. Digging his fingers through her soft thick fur, he scratched her under the chin and behind the ears. He gazed out the window at the buttery morning. 

…

When Marinette became aware of her surroundings again, the shadow of an angel's wings fell across her back. Deep blue and draped to the side of her own shadow, she turned swiftly to see who stood over her. Was it her father or grandmother? 

However, it was the fountain, babbling gently as the angel poured her endless water. Marinette was in the backyard. The mansion's windows were like dark empty eyes, staring out at her without care or concern. Inside, she could see that the basement door had been closed. 

She remembered hearing a scream, feeling panic and fear, and then... falling and breaking. 

Marinette took a deep breath. Was she dead now? Doomed to be trapped in this house like the other spirits that had died here? She opened the back door and stepped inside. Everything looked the same, but the feeling was slightly different. The air was almost oppressive and she felt aware of more things. Could she sense all the other spirits in the house now that she was one?

“Marinette,” Adrien said softly, interrupting her thoughts. He stood near the front window, looking out towards the driveway, but he crossed the foyer to approach her.

“Adrien,” she breathed out. She hugged herself more out of habit than any feeling of cold. Did she even feel cold? She felt oddly detached from herself, from the sensations she was so used to having. “What happened?”

“You fell. The basement stairs collapsed.”

Marinette shuddered as the gut-wrenching plummet washed through her all over again. 

Tikki trotted over to her, looked up, and meowed.

Marinette knelt down and tried to scoop her cat up. She wanted nothing more than to bury her face in Tikki's soft fur and breathe deeply. However, her arms slipped harmlessly through Tikki's body. A dry sob clutched at her lungs. “Oh god,” she whispered. “I'm dead. I'm already dead.”

She hadn't realized that she had begun to hyperventilate until she felt the pressure of Adrien's hand on the back of her neck. 

“You're alright,” he said to her. “You're still alive.” 

The pressure of his hand was warm and firm. Marinette pressed against it. This was so much like the very first time she had seen him that it made her dizzy. She closed her eyes and focused on the feeling of his palm. His skin was soft. She imagined she could feel the ridges of his fingerprints. Slowly, she began to hear his words.

“I can't explain it, but it seems like your spirit slipped out of your body when you fell,” Adrien said gently. “You're not dead. Just breathe.”

Marinette sucked in a deep breath and opened her eyes. Shame blossomed in her chest. Here she was, freaking out when she was still alive, while Adrien had been dead and trapped here for decades. It wasn't fair. “I'm sorry,” she said.

As though reading her thoughts, he shook his head. “It's alright. I just wish someone had been here with me right after I died. I remember being so frightened.” 

Marinette shivered. She didn't want to imagine how terrible this would be if she was alone.

He hesitated before confessing, “It wasn't long after Nathalie joined me though. Then, my father.”

Marinette thought again of the pool of Adrien's blood that had been found in the basement, of the shape of Nathlie's body staining the bathtub, of Gabriel Agreste hanging himself in the house. Then, she thought of the seething mass of curse that she had seen in the master bedroom. She felt as though she could sense it up there, churning.

“Come with me,” Adrien said softly. “I can show you now. It'll be easier.”

“Show me what?” 

“Everything.”

Marinette swallowed. “What do you mean? Everything that happened to you?”

Muffled, somewhere within the house, Marinette heard a faint scream. She hesitated, looking around for the source. It came from behind her—maybe in the kitchen.

“Marinette?” Adrien asked. “Are you coming?” 

Marinette turned her attention back to him.

Like a prince in a fairytale or a vampire in the horror movie, Adrien offered his hand. His fingers were long and pale, his wrist was thin and slightly crooked, and the lifeline of his palm was cut short. 

Unsettled, Marinette took his hand. His skin was surprisingly firm and warm. Goosebumps raced across her flesh, but the chill was diminished by her surprise. She hadn't realized that she could even have goosebumps. Adrien squeezed her fingers comfortingly. His expression was gentle.

Again, Marinette heard the scream. It was weaker now, smaller, like that of a dying thing.

“Did you hear that?” Marinette asked.

Adrien tilted his head.

Together, they stood and listened.

After a long moment—in which Marinette painfully realized that she neither had a heartbeat nor drew breath—she heard it again.

“There,” she said to Adrien urgently. “A scream. Did you hear it?”

He shook his head. 

Marinette tugged him forward a step towards the kitchen. “We have to see who's screaming.”

“I don't hear anything,” Adrien said.

“Come on,” Marinette insisted. Still holding Adrien's hand, she pulled him after her to the kitchen. 

When she stepped into the kitchen, disorientation gripped her. The kitchen swirled together in a mingling mix of the present and what Marinette imagined to be the past. In the backyard, she could see the yard as it must have been in the height of the roaring 20s. The fountains glistened, the yard was perfectly manicured, the pool sparkled with clear water, and flickering lanterns speckled the odd darkness. Her kitchen table flit in and out of existence. The kitchen wavered, its modern appliances transferring over antique ones.

Marinette gripped Adrien's hand tighter. “Does it always look like this to you?”

“Like what?” Adrien asked.

“I can see... everything.”

Adrien looked slowly around the kitchen. “What do you see, Marinette?”

Slightly fascinated, Marinette focused on the fridge. She peered through hers and saw the rounded top of a vintage refrigerator that she had only ever seen pictures of. “I think I see what the house looked like when you were alive,” she said. “Did you have a cool fridge?”

Startling Marinette from her curiosity, the scream came again. It was so close.

Adrien gripped her hand tightly. “What was that?”

“Did you hear it?” Marinette asked. The basement door was shut but light seeped underneath the edge. 

“Marinette, wait—”

Marinette could see shadows moving through that beam of light. She moved closer and stretched out her hand. The knob was cold as she swung it open. For a moment, there was nothing but a void of darkness even though Marinette had seen light. Then, she saw the broken stairs. The stairs reformed, shiny as they must have been when the house was built. Then, blood splattered and broken once again. Her vision lingered there the longest, picking out details of the broken railing and cracked steps. Blood pooled at the bottom. Was this the moment of Adrien's death?

“Marinette!” Adrien shouted. “No!”

From the bottom of the stairs, so quickly that Marinette didn't have time to react, the curse surged upwards. It swarmed around her, sucking the air from her lungs and burning her skin. Her eyes watered, her mouth tasted like ash, and her chest constricted painfully. It was like being inside that car—watching her father die—all over again.

“Marinette!”

She felt Adrien's hands clawing through the curse, gripping and clutching at her. He tried to pull her out of the roiling curse, but it jerked her away. Fear gripped her even deeper than her core. She hadn't realized that she could feel so much white-hot terror. The curse sucked her deep into the basement and the sound of the door slamming was like a judge's gavel banging. Her sentence was final.

“Marinette!” Adrien screamed.

It was dark, suffocating. She could feel her spirit being peeled away, layer by layer until only the terror remained. 

Within the curse, Marinette sensed more than saw Nathalie. She curled up tightly against herself, arms and legs coiled close to make as small a target as possible. Her eyes were wide open, tragic, and dark with despair. Her red-tinged hair pooled all around her head like colored smoke. Her lips moved but Marinette didn't hear her speak. 

Dimly, Marinette thought that Nathalie must have been the one she heard screaming.

Marinette could hear Adrien battering himself at the basement door, shouting her name.

The basement door eased open with a creak. Inside the little room, Marinette could see the single toilet, soiled mattress, and the steamer trunk. The curse loitered outside the doorway, seething, tearing deeper and deeper into Marinette. Pain began to replace the fear—or maybe her fear was so great that it became pain. Black crept in at the edges of her vision.

White hands reached into the mass of curse, gripped her fingers hard, and pulled her out. Air rushed into her lungs. She fell into the little room, the door slammed behind her, and everything stopped. 

…

Adrien couldn't say how it had gotten out. 

He could not say how that mass of darkness had come to fill the basement like smoke, how it had surged up from the depths to snatch more prey, how it had once again ripped someone precious from his life—from his afterlife. It had devoured Marinette in one bite. He couldn't believe how quickly she was gone. She was the first person to speak to him so kindly since he had died. Hell, if he was honest, she was the first person to speak so kindly to him ever.

But that monster had pulled her into the basement without looking back, without giving Adrien a chance to react, without giving him a chance to save her. It was just like when she had fallen into the basement the first time. What was it? Why did it want her so badly? Was it happen with him? Why did it need her too? When the door had slammed in his face, he was certain his unbeating heart had lurched. 

Adrien wrenched at the knob, but it wouldn't even turn. It was icy in his palm, held shut by an invisible and immovable force. He backed away from the door and threw himself at it. Pain raced through his shoulder and down into his fingers. Distantly, his wrist throbbed with the hard motion, but he didn't care. He hurled himself at the door again.

And again.

And again.

The door did not yield.

At his feet, Plagg meowed mournfully. The black cat's eyes were like lanterns.

“Plagg, it can't have her. I won't let it have her,” he panted. “I won't let her die in this house.” Adrien bashed his shoulder into the door again. Though it rocked on its hinges and rattled noisily, it still did not budge. He couldn't do anything to save Marinette from that monster, but he wouldn't give up. Not until he knew there was absolutely no chance to save her—not until he knew she was dead.

…

Marinette sat up slowly. The dirty mattress was hard underneath her, springs poking this way and that into her spine. Blearily, she looked up at the pale-haired man standing before her. His face was so different that it took her a moment to recognize him. He leaned against the door, breathing hard and flushed as though alive, but she knew he couldn't have been. 

After all, it was Gabriel Agreste.

If Marinette had been able to still feel her heartbeat, it would have skipped and stuttered painfully. She scrambled backwards on the mattress, away from the man who had murdered his son, murdered Nathalie, sheltered the curse in his mansion. Her back struck the wall, but she didn't feel pain—only the sensation of a cage pressing around her. She couldn't escape. Desperately, Marinette pressed herself against the basement wall. She hadn't really wished to be swallowed up before this, but now that she was just a spirit, she thought it might actually be possible. 

The sound of Adrien beating against the door was like a distant clarion. If only she could get to him, she would be safe... She hoped...

Gabriel stared at Marinette for a long moment without moving. His eyes were so pale, like a layer of ice over shallow water. He was positioned between her and the exit, an even more effective barrier than the closed door itself. As Gabriel gazed at her, Marinette's skin crawled. She didn't need to breathe, but she felt like a fish out of water, gasping and light-headed.

“You...” Gabriel said. His voice was surprisingly crisp and soft. “Who are you?”

Marinette's mouth went completely dry. How could she answer that? How didn't he know who she was? Hadn't he been tormenting her family? Wasn't... wasn't he the source of that seething mass of curse? 

“Where is my son?”

Marinette couldn't answer him. What would she say—that Gabriel had killed Adrien more than seventy years ago?

“Where's Nathalie?”

Marinette continued to stare at him, lips parted with no sound coming out. Beyond even his questions, she had expected the man who had murdered his son to be more frightening. Yet Gabriel didn't give off any waves of hatred or violence. In fact, he looked frightened.

Gabriel turned from her abruptly and pressed his ear to the door.

Together, they listened to the distant sound of Adrien beating against the basement door. He screamed Marinette's name.

“Marinette?” Gabriel repeated. He turned away from the door and studied her. The fright melted from his expression. He straightened up, adjusted his cravat, and looked her over from head to toe. His gaze was like a cold physical touch. “Death is clinging to you,” he said. 

Marinette stiffened.

“You should leave before it finds you,” Gabriel said coolly. 

“It?” Marinette spit out. “Do you mean death?”

Gabriel rested his hand on the door. Every fiber of his spirit was taut, tense, like a coiled spring. Marinette had a feeling that if she were to touch him, he would unwind and hurt her. 

“Are you going to kill me?”

Gabriel stiffened further. For a long moment, in which Marinette was sure he would turn on her and wrench whatever life she had remaining away, he didn't speak. His eyes stood out like pits in his white face however there was a lantern gleaming at their depths. Finally, in a clipped though not cruel tone, he said, “Why not? I killed my own son.”

Marinette heard the basement door burst open. There was a hard sound, as though Adrien had fallen when he had finally barreled his way through the door. Beyond the door, beyond Gabriel, Marinette heard a hungry howl that made every hair on her soul stand on end. Was that... the voice of the curse?

“You'll be safe here,” Gabriel said suddenly. He jerked open the basement door at the same moment Adrien must have thrown himself at it from outside. 

Adrien spilled into the little room, stumbling in surprise. He straightened quickly, spotted Marinette, and relief decorated his features. Then, his green gaze fell on Gabriel, on his father, and he froze. 

Gabriel didn't move. He didn't seem able to. Horror marred his features.

Beyond the open basement door, Marinette could make out the shape of Nathlie laying on the floor. Writhing in the air, hanging above the concrete floor like smoke, the curse roiled. Marinette's mouth went dry as she saw it directly. Fear clutched at her very soul. If she had still been with her body, she might have fainted or thrown up. As a spirit, she felt completely paralyzed. With an eerie shrieking voice, the curse rushed towards them.

“No!”

Adrien lunged at Marinette, grasped her hand, and pulled her. He dragged her through the wall, through the earth, passed the many roots and stones, upwards, and into the house again. There weren't words to describe what being pulled through those surfaces felt like. Marinette's skin dragged, her hair pulled, and all the unneeded breath was pulled from her lungs. Her chest felt tight and her throat burned. When she became aware that the mansion's floor was beneath her feet again, she nearly dropped to her knees in relief. She was in her room—she was in Adrien's room.

Adrien's hand shook desperately in her own. He lifted his free hand to touch his face and Marinette could see every fiber of his spirit trembling. He looked about to break into pieces. “Still there,” Adrien whispered. “After all this time...”

Marinette swallowed and wondered what would happen if she had a drink of water. Her mouth was so dry. “Adrien?” she ventured.

He looked at her, eyes wide and almost translucent. All at once, his hands covered her. He felt her shoulders, her elbows, her hands, her waist, and seemed to want to continue when she grabbed his wrists firmly.

“What is it?”

“Are you alright?” he demanded. His voice rose a note with panic. “It didn't hurt you?”

“No, no, I think I'm fine,” Marinette assured him.

Adrien let out a breath she didn't realize he had been capable of holding. “Thank god.”

She didn't mention to Adrien how in that instant before he had pulled her through the wall, she had looked back at his father, at Gabriel, and seen the curse. It had surged through the doorway and Gabriel had thrown himself between them. The curse overwhelmed him and then it disappeared into him. In that final instant, she had seen a dark shape straighten and there was a blood-red shape surrounding Gabriel's eyes. She didn't know where this curse had come from or why it had caused everything that had happened to Adrien, but she was beginning to believe what Nathlie had said—that Gabriel Agreste hadn't meant for any of it to happen.

Adrien's fevered words registered slowly in Marinette's mind. 

“Adrien?” she asked.

He looked at her.

“What's still here after all this time?”

“My mother's curse.”

X X X

I started [and finished] watching Inu x Boku SS recently. I like it a lot and I actually feel inspired to write for it. Hopefully that won't take away from my attempts to complete this story [which feels hard tow rite by comparison, fathers and all].

Questions, comments, concerns?


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